Avatar: Into the Storm
by Redshirt51
Summary: Pressed into service when World War II breaks out in the Pacific, the USS Walker finds itself in full retreat from pursuit by Japanese battleships. Its captain, Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, knows that he and his crew are in dire straits. In desperation, he heads Walker into a squall, hoping it will give them cover and emerge somewhere else...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Okay, were do I begin with this? I first got this weird idea back when I started reading this book series called Destroyermen about a United States destroyer at the beginning of WW2 that gets swept up in a storm and finds itself in an alternate reality. It hit me, while I was reading this, that this could be adopted for ATLA were this ship gets transported to the avatar world instead. I've heard a lot of people compare the 100 war with the conflict between imperialist Japan and China during this historic time period and I felt a crossover would be a cool idea. I couldn't find a category for Destroyermen so i figured just place this story in the avatar category. I might do a few chapters to see what people think of this before going full on.**

 **7/4/16 update: this is an update to all chapters and contains grammar corrections and a few text changes.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own ATLA or the Destroyermen series. ATLA belongs to** **Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. The Destroyermen series belongs to Taylor Anderson.**

 **Chapter 1**

 _March 1, 1942_

 _Java sea_

Lieutenant commander Matthew Patrick Reddy stood on the bridge of the USS Walker as the form of the mighty Japanese capital ship appeared in front of them, escorted by a Japanese destroyer.

They had been running for hours now. Ever since they departed from Java the Japanese fleet had been right behind them. Determined to finish what they started during the battle of the Java sea just thirty-six hours ago, which had resulted in the destruction of almost the entire Asiatic fleet, the enemy relentlessly pursued them. ABDACOM's (American-British-Dutch-Australian command) original force consisted of two heavy cruisers, seven light cruisers, twenty-three destroyers, and about thirty submarines and support vessels. All that was left afterward was three battered, Great War-vintage U.S. "four-stacker" destroyers, one British destroyer, and the cruiser HMS Exeter.

Now the Exeter was gone. Sunk by the enemy salvoes as the destroyers fled. One by one the rest of the fleet was gunned down: first HMS Encounter, then USS Pope, until only the Walker and her sister ship the USS Mahan remained.

They were currently making for a squall in the distance. It was larger than any they'd seen all day. It's green dark clouds blotted out the horizon, leaving a menacing impression.

"Signal Mahan. We'll keep this interval in case we have to maneuver. Helm, ahead left flank!" Ordered Matt.

But then, off to the left of them was another squall that was rapidly dissipating. After hours of running with no end in sight, a new threat had emerged from a smaller squall directly in their path.

"Holy Mary," Chief Fitzhugh Grey, the senior enlisted man onboard, said.

"That, gentlemen, is the Amagi" Matt said to the other bridge officers. His voice was harsh but matter-of-fact.

"She's a battlecruiser. Not quite a battleship, but much heavier than a cruiser. I know it's her"-he smiled ironically.

"Because she's the only one they have left. Built in the twenties, so she's just as old as our four stack destroyers."-he snorted.

"But they've spent money on her since then. I remember her because I was always impressed how the Japs could make so much metal move so quickly. I guess it's fitting, after everything else she should show up here. They really don't want us to get away."

Matt turned to Petty officer Riggs. "Signal Mahan to prepare for a torpedo attack." He said.

He crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his eyes glued to the juggernaut ahead. Slowly he turned to Chief Gray.

"We can't go around her and we can't turn back. That leaves us one choice."

The older man nodded grimly. "We'll have to go right through that son of a bitch."

...

Aang had never seen a storm quite like it. The clouds had a green aura that gave an unnatural impression. Strange flashes of light emanated from the mass not unlike lightning but still not quite lightning. Just outside the storm were three iron vessels. The two smallest ships seemed to be going up against a massive behemoth that Aang could barely call a ship.

The monster ship was several times larger than any fire nation battleship the young Avatar had ever seen. The sides of it were covered with cannon-like weapons bigger than most boats. The height of its superstructure dwarfed most hills and buildings. The whole thing towered over the smaller ships as if they were nothing. Flashes of fire between the two ships indicated a desperate fight.

For several intense seconds it looked like the large ship would crush them with its hail storm of fire. But suddenly there was a large explosion on the deck of the larger ship. Before it could recover, all three vessels were swallowed up by the storm.

Aang's eyes shot open to reveal that he was lying on his thick bedroll, with Katara and Sokka camped out on either side of him. Once he realized that it was still dark out, he tried to fall asleep once more. But, unable to get the image of the looming mass of metal and fire out of his head, the boy let out an audible sigh.

This woke Katara, who was forever the lightest sleeper of the trio.

"Is everything alright Aang?" She sat up and whispered in a concerned tone.

"Just a weird nightmare," he told her, scratching his bald head.

"How many of those are you gonna have?" Sokka complained from his own place on the grass. Apparently Aang's attempt to avoid disturbance had failed. Well, at least Appa, the enormous sky bison, seemed rested.

"What was it about?" Katara said impatiently, though she couldn't help glaring at her brother.

"You know, I dreamed that Gran-Gran slapped me with a fish!" Sokka interrupted groggily. He didn't like being woken up, but now that he was he wanted to use this time for something. "And then she turned into a fish. And then I ate her," he continued strangely. "Do you think that could come true? Not the Gran-Gran part; just the fish part." After a confused pause, Aang turned over in his roll, ignoring Sokka's antics.

"It wasn't anything that made sense anyway; I'll tell you in the morning."

Satisfied with their leader's reassurance, the siblings returned to their slumber. That is, except for Aang, who pondered and stressed over his strange vision. His Avatar side had a knack for being able to tell what was or going to or what was happening in the forms of dreams. And for once, he hoped that Sokka was right and they'd get a seafood slap from someone and not a hulking mass of danger.

...

Amagi's first salvo fell short, but it threw up a wall of water that drenched half the ship. Even lieutenant Rogers up in the crow's nest was probably drenched but no one had heard from him. Walker pierced the spray raised by Amagi's main guns. The splashes from the cruisers chasing them were uninterrupted and Matt Reddy was reminded of the many times he shot turtles at the stock tank behind his grandmother's house.

"So this is how they felt." Matt said to himself as a bang from behind alerted him to an attacking dive bomber. It's payload hid just to port, drenching the destroyer with yet another wave. The .50-calibers lashed out at the plane and something fell off it as it spun out of control.

More salvos fell. This time around the Mahan, which was less than five hundred yards to port. The shells fell like rain yet somehow she remained afloat. Her aft deckhouse was damaged though, so was her number four funnel and a search light. Another salvo bloomed ahead.

"Damn we're close!" Matt thought as he looked ahead with his binoculars.

"There they are! Right there!" He shouted into the speaking tube.

"Surface target! Bow! Estimate range five five double oh!"

The salvo buzzer sounded and Walkers guns fired. Next to Matt, Grey held on tightly as the ship made a sharp turn to starboard. Then another salvo slashed out from Amagi just as six torpedoes cuffed from their tubes and laced in the direction of the battle cruiser. Just beyond Amagi the squall beckoned, dark and alive with its torrential green rain.

At that moment a ten-inch shell on a flat trajectory punched through the forward fire room. A fiery cloud of hot, black soot and steam swept Matt to the deck.

...

The next morning, the three friends awakened to a new sunrise that came up over the mountains. The campsite were the kids resided was on the small beach that separated a large mountain range behind them from the great north sea. As the group got up and went about packing up Katara turned to Aang.

"So, would you like to tell me about that dream you had last night?" She said.

Aang hesitated for a minute. "I'm not sure what it was... There was this storm. A storm that wasn't a storm."

"What do you mean?"

"It was almost like it had an aura. A very powerful aura. Not like a normal storm. And just outside it were these three ships. But they were all made of metal."

"Fire navy ships?" Katara asked.

"No. Two of them were sailing together and weren't very big. Smaller than a fire nation ship. They were longer though. The third one..." Aang stopped for a moment.

"What? What is it?"

"I can't even describe it. It was huge. Bigger than any fire nation ship... Than any ship in the whole world. And it was a warship too. It was trying to destroy the other ones."

"What happened?" Katara said, now fully invested in Aangs story.

"That's the weirdest part. Just before the big ship could destroy the other two there was an explosion onboard. I don't know if it was hit by the small ships or something else. Whatever it was, it was hit. Before it could recover the storm came upon all three of them."

Katara said face expressed a look of curiousness. "That's strange." She thought to herself for a minute. Then an idea struck her.

"The markings! Did they have any markings or flags?" She asked.

"I... I think so. The small ones had an identical flag and the big one had its own flag."

"Could you draw them in the sand?"

"Sure."

Aang quickly used his airbending to propel himself towards the foliage beyond the beach. He grabbed a fallen stick and ran back to the beach.

"This is the flag the first two ships had." Aang said.

Katara watched as he began to outlined a shape in the sand. At first it look a series of strips going across the shape of the flag. Then Aang started drawing another box in the left hand corner. He created several stars in the box with his stick and finish up by joining the main box all-together. Katara regarded it with wonder. She had never seen a flag quit like it. It wasn't from any of the four nations as far as she knew. What could it mean?

Aang got started on the other image. Unlike the first flag, this one had lines going outward from a circle in the center near the bottom. When it was completed Katara couldn't help but be reminded of the light beams from a sunrise.

For the longest time, Aang and Katara stared at the two alien symbols until they were interrupted by Sokka.

"Everything's packed up. No help from you guys. Appa is ready to go." He said before looking at the drawings in the sand.

"What are those?"

"They're the flags from the ships I saw in my dream." Aang said. Sokka looked at the drawings with a curious expression similar to his sister and friend.

"Any idea what they mean?"

"We've never seen them before." Katara answered. There was silence for several seconds until Sokka finally spoke.

"Well. No use just siting around here. Might as well get going." He said, turning towards the giant flying bison. Reluctantly, Aang and Katara fallowed.

"Yip yip!" Sokka said and the massive animal took to the sky with all three of them riding on its back in a large saddle. As they gained altitude Aang looked back at the beach. Sokka noticed this out of the corner of his eye.

"Look Aang. If it means anything to you, I'm sure you dream was just your imagination. We've all had a stressful month, what with the fire nation chasing us and all. We're bound to see weird stuff in our dreams. Heck! I'm surprise Katara hasn't seen anything in her dreams yet."

Katara raised her eyebrow at her brother for a moment before turning to Aang with concern. He was still looking back at the drawings in the sand.

He watched as the tide slowly but surly got higher and higher until it washed them away. As the waves did their work, Aang could hear a voice in the back of his head telling him he would see those flags again soon.

...

Matt looked around. He couldn't hear the thud of water on the deck from the squall. In fact he couldn't hear anything. One look told him why. Large greenish raindrops hovered in mid air all around the ship like frozen crystals. Matt looked around at the surprised, confused, and even horrified expressions of the other crew members. He fallowed the frozen raindrops down until he peeked over the side of the ship. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The ocean was gone. From the grey upper section of the hull to the barnacle infested reddish bottom the entire ship was exposed to air. Below them was nothing but an empty grayish green void and billions of suspended raindrops. It couldn't be. What he had seen couldn't possibly be real. Just as he recovered, a feeling of weightlessness came upon him. He quickly grabbed ahold of the railing and held on as if it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the ship. Others had done so as well. The whole deck seemed to drop under his feet. Matt turned around and puked on the deck at the sudden G-forces.

Then came an a low-pitched whine, slowly building and building until it became a torment. He could feel the pressure of his ears increasing. his eyes were being shoved into their sockets. But he could still see that everyone in the pilot house was down. Fred Reynolds met the captains gaze with a look of terror, and Riggs was laying down on the deck, his hands covering his eyes.

Suddenly, the deck swooped up beneath his feet much like a roller coaster reaching the bottom of a hill. As quickly as they had stopped, the raindrops returned to their normal state, falling on the roof in a deluge. Exhausted from the strain, Matt gathered himself up while the rest of the crew outside picked themselves up and stumbled back to their stations trying to find comfort in their duties. Matt did the same thing. He had no idea what had occurred but he knew that questions would have to come later. Right now he had a ship to save. Suddenly the growing cries of alarm were interrupted by the familiar voice of the Bosun.

"Stow that girlish gab! Where do you think you are? You! Yeah, you, Davis! Secure that shit! Form a detail and clear these shells! Look at this mess! LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL DECK! You'd think a bunch of goddamn hogs or even snips been rootin' around here! You think you've been in a battle? I've had scarier fights with the roaches in the wardroom! Quit pukin', Smitty. You sound like a frog!"

Matt listened as Gray's abuse moved aft. Riggs was still at the wheel, shaking as he stood, and Matt nodded at him.

"Damage report! Why've we stopped?" Matt said firmly. Bernard Sandison was at the speakerphone listening in to the reports coming from all across the ship.

"Lieutenant Mcfarlane shut down the engines." He said. "Water's coming into the engine room but the pumps can handle it. We took a lot of hits forward and there's lots of casualties. Doc's dead." He added grimly.

"He was working on Rodriguez when a shell came through and just... Tore him apart. A lot of wounded were killed in the wardroom by that shell. One of the female nurses is dead." He said quietly. "She was standing right next to the doc. Mr. Rogers is dead too. Mr. Garrett can see blood running down the mast from the crows nest." Sandison replied to Garrett and then listened to other reports before looking up at Matt.

"Jesus skipper! We've got a lot of holes."

"Anything on the horn? Anything from Mahan?"

Sandison shook his head. "Radioman Clancy reported that there haven't been a peep since we entered the squall. Before that we were getting a lot of distress calls. Mostly merchant ships needing escorts, but now just static."

"Casualties?" Matt said as he ran his hands through his hair

"I'm not sure but... a lot."

"Very well. Secure from general quarters. But keep the crews on the guns and a sharp lookout. See if we can get some hot food into theses guys." He covered a jaw-racking yawn with his hand. "And I need more coffee. Also have lieutenant Ellis report to the bridge when able." He paused and added. "Ask the Bosun to get some men to retrieve Mr. Rogers."

As the men of the ship preformed their duties, Matt yearned to be under way. They had no way of knowing if the Mahan survived. They had taken as much pressure off as they could, but he didn't want to think about how that turned out. Apparently during the battle Walker had returned to help Mahan while she was making a suicide charge to let them get clear. Matt could only hope the confusion saved them both. But even if she survived she would be in bad shape. But there was nothing they could do for the moment.

Amagi had been badly hit though. Two of their torpedoes hit the cruiser dead on and another one vaporized the destroyer accompanying the capital ship. Just how badly it had been damaged was anyone's guess. Enough to retire? Maybe. Enough to sink? That would grant his fondest wish. But that was the least of their problems. Those other cruisers were still out there.

Once Walker regained steam pressure they pressed on. All they could do was pray Mahan had escaped. Matt started to wonder if the other destroyer had seen the same phenomenon Walker had. Matt shuttered for a moment. He had to have been seeing things. The weird rain was explainable. Probably an updraft of shorts. But that great void beneath them? No, it had to have been an hallucination. Probably brought on by exhaustion and the stress of combat.

"Skipper, Mr. Garrett says the squall's passing."

As Matt stirred he caught a glimpse of one of the nurses entering the pilot house. Her brown eyes widened in surprise when they met his. She timidly set a coffee urn on the deck, tentatively shoving it in his direction before vanishing down the latter.

"Coffee's here." Matt announced.

Before long Walker emerged from the mysterious squall into the afternoon sun. The storm raged behind them but would soon dissipate. All expected to see the menacing forms of Japanese cruisers to emerge soon. If only they hadn't lost the engines when they did. They could have been long gone. Walkers first officer Jim Ellis reported to the bridge.

"The ships a wreck sir. Everything topside has a hole in it. We're in better shape below the water line, if you can believe it." He sighed. "You know, my grandad was at Manila Bay. His brother was at Santiago Bay. He always said there'd be days like this, only he made it sound more fun."

Matt nodded. "Dad was on a can like this in the North Atlantic, during the last war. They chased a few subs, but never anything like this. Somehow I think his stories were closer to the mark. He didn't have fun. And I can't imagine many things more miserable that one of theses four stackers in the North Atlantic. Not until the past couple of months that is."

They'd been talking quietly already, but Matt looked around the bridge and lowered his voice even further before bringing up the uncomfortable subject he had in mind.

"What do you think about our... experience, right after we entered the squall?"

Jim hesitated for a minute. "I'm, ah, thinking it was a freakish updraft or something."

Matt nodded. "Me too. In fact, that's how I'll instruct Mr. Tolson to enter it into the log. But... Did you ever happen to look over the side?" Lieutenant Ellis recoiled back in shock as his face turned white.

"A little." He whispered.

"How many of the crew, do you think, may have seen it?"

"Not many. Hell, probably none. They were pretty busy at the time. Then with the screwy raindrop, I figure everyone was looking up."

Matt rubbed his head. "Damn. I only asked you to confirm that I hadn't seen anything. Well, at least we're back in the real world were the only thing we have to worry about is the Japanese."

"Maybe sir but if it's all the same to you..."

Both men were interrupted by quartermaster's mate 2nd class Norman Kutas.

"Mr. Garrett reports surface target, bearing one seven zero! Range five five double oh!"

They rushed to the starboard bridge wing and brought their binoculars to bear. A dark form was taking shape behind them as the squall dispersed. It was listing to port with smoke poring from amidships.

"Oh, my god, skipper," Jim gasped. "It's Mahan!"

...

Chief Arnook of the Southern Water Tribe watched as the young warriors loaded their supply's from the ice dock onto the small cutter sailing ships in the harbor. Many of the men were water-bending students of master Pakku, off to utilize an train their skills in the open ocean. Coincidently, he noticed a familiar presence behind him.

"I see you students are almost ready" Arnook said as master Pakku himself walked up next to him.

"We will be leaving within the hour." Pakku announced in his constantly serious tone of voice.

"I almost wish I could go with you."

"Hunting is for men much younger that ether of us." Pakku said.

"And yet you go." Arnook pointed out.

"I need to make sure my students behave while they practice on the voyage. Though even when we get back, with their progress lately, I doubt they will have the skill to fight giant crabs."

The old Chief suppressed a chuckled. But Pakku didn't even flinch. Water-bending master Pakku never laughed and almost never smiled. Not even to his own dry humor.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to check to make sure my pupils remembers to pack the instruction scrolls for our voyage." He said.

The old master proceeded down a set of ice stairs that lead from the habitation level to the lower dock and canal level, the lowest part of the great city of ice. Arnook watched as he confronted one of the students.

"Sangok! What did I tell you about putting my personal items next to the supply of sea prunes? I would prefer that my clothing not smell like your afternoon lunches."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Walker made a wide turn to port. Once she was pointed in the direction she desired, she sprinted toward her sister Mahan. Many of the men were at least secretly terrified of the idea of turning around. But one man standing on the foredeck silently cursed the ill luck.

Captain David Kaufman was one of several "passengers" aboard Walker, including: an unkempt Australian named Mr. Bradford who was a construction engineer for Royal Dutch Shell, a sergeant from the USS Huston's marine contingent, six female navy nurses, and finally Kaufman and a lieutenant Mallory. Both Kaufman and Mallory were p-40 army pilots who'd escaped the sinking of the old aircraft carrier Langley with the nurses. When Kaufman first met Lieutenant Commander Reddy their conversation was full of friction to say the least. Reddy hadn't taken too kindly to Kaufman announcing his rank as "Captain" and almost immediately gave him and Mallory the thankless task of carrying ammunition to the 50. cal's. Now that upstart on the bridge was going to risk all their lives to save a ship that was already doomed! He'd been safer in Surabaya! And the way he'd been treated was an outrage! He was an officer, by God, a fighter pilot! And to be forced to preform manual labor and be physically threatened to do so was beyond appalling. Heads would roll for this, he decided. He had important friends and he'd remember. Now if they could just go! But there was Mahan damn it! In obvious distress and no enemy in sight. At least for now. He shoved an empty shell casing over the side with his foot.

What Kaufman didn't realize was that most of the destroyer-men on DD-163 wouldn't have cared if Amagi stood between them and their sister. They hadn't expected to last this long, and the deck was stacked against them whether they turned back or ran. They might as well die doing the right thing.

In the pilot-house, Jim Ellis took the conn, keeping Walker poised a good forty yards away from the other ship. Matt went to the bridge wing with a speaking trumpet in hand and stared at the other ship.

She looked doomed. She was low by the bow and her forward superstructure was a wreck. Smoke gushed from the ventilation hatches as men directed hoses into them. Smoke still wished from the first two funnels. The number four funnel was gone however, probably rolled over the side to clear the deck, and the searchlight tower had fallen on across the number one torpedo mound, rendering it useless. Most of the men seemed too busy trying to save their ship to even talk to Matt.

Matt looked out at the sun, nearing the horizon and willed it to go faster. The squall had finally run dry and lookouts were tense and alert, but so far, nothing. Matt couldn't complain, but he couldn't believe that the Japanese had just given up. Even if the cruisers had left, the aircraft would have continued the search. Maybe they were low on fuel, or didn't want to land at night.

All these considerations came in an instant for him and he turned back to Mahan and raised the trumpet.

"Is your fire under control? Will our hoses help? Can you steam? Where's Captain Atkinson?" He was sure he knew what the answer to his final question was. A bedraggled form moved across the deck to the railing. The man cupped his hands and shouted

"I'm Lieutenant Brister. Engineering. The captain's dead. The whole bridge crew is ether dead or badly wounded. I think we've about got the fire licked and we can steam, but I had to use men on the steering detail for damage control. If you can spare some men, I think we can get under way."

"The entire bridge crew? Who's in command?"

"I guess I am, sir."

...

Commander Chan stood at the edge of his flagships bridge looking out at the activity on the main deck far below as sailors and solders alike made final preparations for their journey carrying supplies and cargo from the docks. Just a few hours ago the commander received orders from Admiral Zhao to take his ship and three other "third generation class cruisers" into the Northern Sea to scout for enemy activity. Most of the crews and junior officers from the four ships were not told of the full extent or importance of the mission. But rumors were already spreading. Rumors of a great invasion to wipe out the Northern Water Tribe, and that they were the vanguard force.

Personally the commander took little care what mission they were on. He had his orders and would carry them out the the fullest extent. Already he calculated in the reports and the logs from the region in his head. Several secret lookout positions in the northern mountains of the earth kingdom had reported little activity. But their field of vision was limited. They did report an unusually strong storm building up and that it would reach its full strength by the time his ships would reach their first checkpoint. But the commander was not overly concerned about the weather. His cruisers were capable of handling the strongest typhoons and storms, leaving little to fear for them. It would certainly be an inconvenience, but not a problem.

As he pondered this one of the bridge officers addressed him.

"Commander. The other ship captains report ready to depart on your orders."

"Very well. Inform the deck crew they have five minutes to report to the ship." He said briskly.

Several minutes later a giant cloud of black smoke and ash erupted from the smokestacks of the four warships as their coal driven engines ignited. Slowly, they crawled away from the dock out into the channel. By the time they were out in open sea the sun had cleared the horizon, emitting the light of a brand new day.

...

"Lieutenant Brister's a fine officer," Matt said as he and Ellis watched the whaleboat motor across to the Mahan, carrying half a dozen seamen under bosun' mate 1st Class Francis "Frankie" Steele, of the second deck division, as well as signalmen Ed Palmer, with a portable Morse lamp for communication.

Jim nodded. "Yes sir. He deserves a commendation for keeping his ship afloat and fighting. He's going to have his hands full though."

"Yeah, he's no navigator or bridge officer. I hate to lose you, but maybe you better go and assume command."

Jim frowned. "Well, if you say so skipper, but we've got damage of our own."

"Lieutenant Dowden can handle it. He knows what to do, and the men like him." Matt said. He looked at Ellis with a sad smile. "Go on, Jim. Mahan needs you. We have to get her underway as soon as possible, and if anyone can speed that up its you."

Jim was quiet for a moment. "Aye, aye, sir. I guess I just hate to leave this old girl in such a shape.

He smiled wryly and looked at Mahan. "I never expected my first command to be the best ship in the Navy, but this is ridiculous."

Matt laughter at how closely his exec's thoughts mirrored his own when he first took command of Walker.

"I'll just run down and get some things and as soon as the boat returns, I'll go." He stood awkwardly for a moment, then thrust out his hand. "Take care, sir... Matt."

Matt shook his friends hand. "You too. Report as soon as you have an idea on what shape she's in. Holler if you need anything."

Jim grinned "same here." He said before he stepped back and saluted. Matt returned it and after Jim left the bridge he sighed deeply.

"Pass the word for Mr. Dowden."

...

"Skipper," reported Sandison, "lookout sees something 'screwy' in the water, dead ahead, about two miles. Wait a minute! He thinks it's a submarine!"

"What's the status of the whaleboat?"

"Alongside," replied Riggs. "They're hoisting it aboard now."

"Very well. Signal the Mahan that we're investigating a possible submarine. Sonar's still out?"

"Yes sir." Lieutenant Dowden said as he ran up the ladder. "Jim, I mean, Mr. Ellis had us working on it but... Well..."

"Just put it on your report. More worn-out equipment."

"Sir, Mr. Garrett sees it too, and damned if it don't look like a sub to him," Kutas said. "He says there's debris and people in the water around it. Might be a sub taking on survivors from that Nip destroyer we sank."

"Sound general quarters! All ahead full. Maybe we'll catch 'em on the surface."

...

Spanky was inspecting the damage in the forward fire room. Eight body's had been removed. Bodies of men he had known. Machinists Mate 2nd class Dean Laney and Dave Ellen, ship fitter, trailed behind with clipboards. Light was coming in through the two holes made by the ten inch shell, one on ether side. The boilers survived but steam lines were shredded.

"It's a miracle it didn't hit the boiler," Lainey said.

"Not much we can do about the rest of this right now though, Spanky," said Elden. "She needs yard time bad."

"I know. Let's see if we can get at least one back on line as a spare, though. I don't like steaming on two boilers. 'Specially if one's number four. I don't trust it."

Suddenly the general alarm sounded, breaking the silence in the compartment.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Laney hollered when the deck beneath his feet titled and the ship surged forward. "Not again."

"Didn't they tell you?" Mcfarlane growled. "There's a war on."

...

"Surface action, bow!" Shouted Garrett over the comm. "Estimate range two two double oh. Target stationary. Match pointers!"

Fire control was a mess, but it was back online. Garrett watched a dark shape, barely on the surface, like a flooded down submarine, easing through a group of men in the water. He didn't feel good about firing on helpless men, even if they were the enemy, but he was about to give the order when the shape in the water began to change. The next thing anyone knew the shape started lifting out of the water to reveal what Garrett could only describe as a creature with the head and neck of a giant seahorse with the body covered in teal and purple scales. Water streamed down its body as towered over the waves before opening its mouth and chomping down on several of the men in the water.

Reynolds was in the crows nest and his voice suddenly crackled on the line. "Holy shit... sir! That's no sub. It's some kind of... Some kind of sea serpent thing! And it's eating the Japs!"

Garret blinked in shock. He'd seen a submarine because he expected to see one.

"Commence firing!" The Skipper ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir! Gun number one, range is now, ah, one four five oh! Match pointers! Commence firing!"

He was so distracted by... Whatever was swimming about taking mouthfuls of the struggling men that he didn't press the salvo buzzer. The number one gun boomed, and a second later, a geyser of water erupted just beyond the creature.

"Gun one, correction! Down sixty, three rounds, resume firing!" The three guns unleashed their ammunition and a tight group of water spouts erupted around the creature. As quickly as it had emerged from the deeps, the creature turned its head toward the destroyer. Its skinny mouth opened wide and unleashed an ear splitting scream before diving back into the water.

"God almighty."

"All back two thirds, right ten degrees rudder! Boats! Get those men out of the water!" Matt yelled down at the foredeck before looking out to port. The surviving men were just a hundred yards away and getting closer as the destroyer "slammed on the brakes" when Matt noticed something odd. One by one the surviving men were dropping under the water as if some invisible force was pulling them down. Then Matts blood ran cold. It was the serpent, it had to be. In an effort to avoid Walkers weapons it was now grabbing its pray from beneath the waves. By now most of the crew had noticed and their expressions matched the shock Matt felt. What was it? He was no expert on marine life by any means but he had never seen such a thing. By the looks of the men, neither had they.

Only chief Grey seemed immune to the shock. He went about his task with a single mindedness that Matt could only envy, as though huge sea monsters lurked in the water everyday. In spite of the bosuns efficiency, by the time a party had been assembled to throw lines over the side, there was almost no one left to save. Only a single, overturned lifeboat remained with two forms precariously balanced on top.

One seemed unconscious, and the other hovered over the first with a split and badly gnawed oar in his hands. He regarded the destroyermen with inscrutable Asian eyes. His face hadn't changed expressions since he had battled with the serpent.

We're just different enemies, Matt thought. He turned and saw another face peering anxiously from the latter aft. The Australian engineer whom he'd only briefly met.

"My I, ah... Come up there, sir, for a word?"

Matt nodded, and the tall, portly man puffed up the latter. His sparse, greying hair was plastered to his head with sweet which he swiped away while holding his hat in his left hand. Noticing that everyone else wore a hat or helmet, he plunked his back on his head. He noticed the men at the fore deck, who were throwing lines to the seaman on the boat and trying to convince him to take one.

"Oh dear. Unimaginable. After what that Jappo's been through, he still won't surrender. I don't suppose you have anyone who can talk to him? No, of corse not."

Matt looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He'd noticed the man's strange habit of answering his own questions..

Actually, Mr. Bradford, we may surprise you. Quite a few old China hands aboard this ship. Some may have learned a few words."

"Indeed."

In the end, their translator was not a "China hand" but lieutenant Mallory, the army pilot with Captain Kaufman. He spoke a few phrases before the stubborn sailor finally let go of his oar and caught the rope.

"Get some weapons to those men before they hoist that Jap aboard." Matt said to Garrett. He raised his voice to be heard by the men on the deck below.

"Where'd you learn Japanese, Mr. Mallory?" The young officer shouted a reply.

"Southern California, sir. My folks ran an orange plantation. Lots of Japs in the citrus groves."

"Why didn't he take the rope?"

"He said his family, his ancestors, would be ashamed if he surrendered."

"That's nuts! Didn't he see what happened the the others?" Matt said. "How'd you talk him into it?"

Mallory shook his head. "I didn't sir. But he agreed to let us rescue his officer since he's unconscious and can't decide for himself. I told him we'd let him kill himself later if he wants."

"Jesus," someone muttered. Chief Gunners Mate sonny Campeti arrived on deck with several Springfields. He passed out all but one which he kept for himself. Three men pulled the rope while the others stood back, their rifles ready. The burly Japanese sailor held the other end, pulling gently until the boat bumped against the side of the destroyer and another rope was lowered.

Quickly and professionally, the man tied it around his officers chest under his arms and then stood back as the destroyermen hauled the unconscious man to the deck.

Chief Grey looked up at Matt with an expression that said 'now what?' And the captain raised his speaking trumpet. "Is he alive?"

Grey felt the man's neck for a pulse and nodded.

"Take him to the wardroom, under guard."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"What about the other one?" Mallory asked.

"I don't know. Many we can lasso him, or something. We can't just leave him here. Jap or not."

"Goodness gracious!" Exclaimed Counrtney Bradford. Matt fallowed the mans gaze into the sea. The dark blue water became much darker beneath the boat. Suddenly the creature they'd driven under rose to the surface. It's long, narrow jaws immediately snapped shut on the boat, taking the Japanese sailor with it in an instant. The thing was enormous!

The .30 cal and .50 cal machine guns on the port side opened up with a storm of lead. The creature writhed and slammed into the hull, rocking the ship. With a splash the creature disappeared from view.

Matt stood transfixed, but only for a moment.

"Boats, get someone down to check the hull for damage. Whatever the hell that was, it bumped us pretty good."

For a moment no one moved, but the bosun finally stirred. "Get the lead out, you miserable girly saps! The skipper gave an order! Ain't you never seen a sea monster eat a Jap before? Shit!"

With that, Matt turned, walked back to his chair, and sat. Off the port bow, the sun finally vanished beneath the horizon and he removed his hat and plopped it on his lap. He felt like he had spent his lifetime supply of adrenalin on that one day. He was so tired. Finally he sighed and rubbed his face.

"Mr. Tolson, take us back to Mahan. Hopefully she's ready to go. Secure from general quarters, but keep men on the machine guns for awhile." He yawned tremendously.

"It's been a hectic day."

...

Night had fallen as commander Chan stiffly held his place at the bridge. The frustration within him was under control but continued to simmer like water being made ready for tea. His plan to sortie into the North Sea had already suffered a setback. During the evening the fleet had entered a thick fog bank as it passed through the ancient Western Islands. At the same time one of the ships captains, a captain Shu, reported a problem with the steam pressure in his engines. With little other opinions the commander ordered his ships to slow down until the issue could be fixed. But even at 1/4 power the crippled ship was struggling to keep up and was always just barley within visual range.

Then the fog overcame the fleet and they couldn't see them at all. They keep in regular contact with the flagship via massager hawk, however. Every ten minutes the commander received an update on their course and speed from captain Shu. But after about two hours the messages stopped without explanation. It was possible that the ship became lost or disoriented, or the hawk may have become lost as well. But Chan didn't have the luxury to go looking for them. His orders from Admiral Zhao specified that it would not be in the Fire Nations best interest if the fleet was seen by the enemy.

Chan's lookouts had also reported seeing several flashes of light through the fog bank and many of the crew heard what sounded like distant and muffled explosions. Knowing they could not afford to be seen, Chan continued on. By now the fog bank was dissipating to reveal a clear night sky and open ocean.

"Commander. Navigation reports we have successfully entered the waters of the Northern Water tribe." The first officer said.

"Excellent. Helm, make your course two-five-zero." Chan said. His boiling emotions now died down.

"Yes sir." The man at the ships wheel said.

Slowly the fleet turned eastward to begin the long trek across the open ocean.

...

They ran south all night at twenty knots. Repairs labored on as well. The damage both ships sustained would require a yard, but the patches of shoring timbers and welded plates would have to do. They had too far to go. Matt considered returning to Surabaya, but they would probably just end up trapped with all the enemy activity going on. Ceylon was an option, but they were going there originally because it's yards could handle Exeter. With the cruiser lost it was no longer mandatory. Better to make for Perth, Australia.

It was a cloudless night, and the bright form of the near full moon illuminated the two ships like a guide. As far as Matt was concerned it was a miracle that either ship had survived. The only thing that had saved them was getting in close where Amagi's main guns couldn't engage... and the Squall, of course. Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the memory. The squall had been unusual in itself, but then a whole string of events fallowed. The "sea monster" for instance. Also the temperature seemed to have dropped and the weather was strange. What had been a humid, hot day in the Java sea was now starting to feel like his home state of Texas during the fall months. Then there had been the odd lack of radio traffic. The radioman and electricians mates had studied the equipment and found nothing wrong. But everyone was exhausted and they must have missed something. It was that simple.

Matts eyes fluttered open again, and he shook his head. The mid watch would be coming on soon, he thought muzzily. At least some of the men could sleep. Poor Richard. Up in the crows nest all day long, only to die when they were so close to safety. He'd done his duty, but he'd missed the sea monster. Jim missed it too, as had everyone else on the other ship. They were lucky. "At least it won't swim in their dreams. It's already in mine and I'm not even asleep."

Matt was snoring lightly. Garrett had the deck. He stepped over to stand beside his captain, lest he fall from his chair. He caught the eyes of the other tired men and held a finger to his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N- I know it been quite some time since I last updated this story. I apologize, it's just that I was busy with job related stuff during the past couple of months. To top it off I recently overcame a major case of Writers Block. So... There's that. These past several weeks were just slow for me. With school starting I'll try to update as frequently as possible but it will probably be on a monthly basis.

Matt came awake in a blurry, grey dawn. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before noticing the cold air hitting his skin, which came as a surprise to him since he had become so used to the warm, wet weather. He looked around to see lieutenant Dowden conversing nearby with the Bosun. Matt felt a surge of irritation at having been allowed to sleep, but then he felt a sense of guilt at having done so. Wry acceptance followed. At least now he could face the day without dropping from exhaustion.

"Coffee?" He croaked. Before the word was uttered, Juan Marcos appeared at his elbow, steaming mug in hand. Juan was the officers' steward and the only Filipino who hadn't jumped ship when they left the Philippines. He beamed as his captain took the cup and nodded his thanks. Raising it to his lips, Matt took a tentative sip.

"That's good," he said, and sipped again. "Very good, Juan. Best coffee you've ever made."

A wounded expression filled the Filipinos face. "But cap-tan, I did not make it!"

Matt glanced at Grey, who suddenly looked away.

"Well. . . of course I just woke up and it's my first cup. I'm sure it just tastes so good because I really needed it."

The Bosun coughed to stifle a laugh. Juan took care of them, and no one would have dreamed of hurting his feelings. But his idea of good coffee was. . . different from everyone else's.

"No, cap-tan Reddy. I'm sure it is very good. Better than mine." Juan said formally. "One of the nurses made it. The señorita nurses," he added darkly as if to say it might taste good, but would probably kill him in the process.

"Now that you are awake, I will bring you a breakfast I doubt they could match!"

Matt chuckled. "I'm sure you will, Juan. I'm starved!"

The Filipino summoned his dignity and left the bridge. Matt raised an eyebrow at chief Grey and shook his head. He then turned in his chair and glanced astern.

"She's still hanging tight." Grey said, referring to Mahan. Matt could just make her out in the grayish-pink half-light. He stood and stretched his arms over his head. He felt like he'd been thrown from a horse, but except for a few cuts he'd escaped the previous day's battle without injury.

"Where are we?" He asked.

Dowden stepped to the chart table with Matt and Grey to peer at the map. "Here, sir," Dowden said and pointed. "Just about exactly."

Matt looked at the map and then out the windows. It was difficult to tell, but he thought he could see a land mass ahead.

"I'm not enthusiastic about running Lombok or Bali Strait in daylight." He said. "If the Japs are here ahead of us, it would be simple for them to put a stopper on the bottle. There're only so many holes in the Malay Barrier. Even after all the running we did yesterday, we're only three hundred miles from where we started. They could have easily beaten us here."

"Yes sir." The Bosun said. "And they don't even need ships." He pointed at the map. "A couple of planes patrolling here, or here, and they'd have us. They cant miss us. We're in no shape to dodge dive bombers."

Matt nodded thoughtfully. "What's this?" He pointed to a sliver of land off the northeast corner of Bali.

Dowden leaned closer. "Ah... Menjangan Island. It's only about two and a half miles long. The chart shows a narrow channel between it and Bali that's only a mile wide."

"What if we eased in there and hunkered down for the day, and then ran Bali Strait tonight?" Matt mused. Dowden looked unconvinced, but Grey was thoughtful.

"Looks like plenty of water. The channel shows a hundred forty feet. There's about three fifty all around." He looked at Matt.

"Bali Strait wouldn't be my first choose in the dark; it's so narrow. But the Japs might think so too. It sounds good." Dowden finally gave a small nod. Their only other option was a daylight run through a very confined stretch of water.

"We lie doggo for the day." Matt said. "It'll give us a chance to patch some holes. Besides, I'd like to get with Jim. I need a real report on Mahan's condition, as well as our own." Matt stared at the map a few moments more.

"I wonder what kind of cover Menjangan has. A lot of these little islands are just jungles poking out of the sea. That'd be perfect for our needs. Some are barren volcanic rocks too." Matt looked around the pilot house questioningly. "I've never been there."

Dowden and Grey were both shaking their heads and no one else showed up.

"Send for Mr. Bradford. Maybe he knows."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The Bosun fallowed Matt to the bridge wing, where they stood silently staring out at Mahan.

"By the way, Boats, how are our other 'passengers' making out?"

Gray arched an eyebrow and then snorted. "Well skipper, I've been a little busy, and they might've strayed from my immediate presence a time or two..."

Matt chuckled. "But, Boats, you're not just a chief, you're the Chief! You're supposed to know everything that happens on this ship."

Grey grunted noncommittally. "Yes, sir. Lieutenant Mallory pulled his weight. He helped out with the ammo hauling a lot and if it weren't for him, I guess we would have to leave the Nip behind. He'll live, by the way." He glowered.

"On the other hand, Kaufman's a wonder. He ran around all day trying to tell everyone what to do. Finally, Campeti got fed up. He handed him a four-inch shell and told him to carry it to the number one gun or he'd cram it... down his trousers... and throw him over the side."

Matt started laughing, but the humor was replaced by hot anger at the self important idiot who'd harassed his men during combat. He forced himself to maintain a placid expression but was surprised at how quickly his anger flared.

"What about the nurses? I heard one of them was killed."

Grey nodded. When he spoke his voice held genuine regret. "Yes sir. She was a pretty thing too. Leslie Runnels or something. She was helping doc with Rodriguez when they were both hit. Rodriguez'll be ok. The cut on his leg wasn't very big." Grey was quiet for a moment.

"The shell that got the doc and nurse couldn't'a missed Rodriguez by a foot. The other nurses took over and did just fine. Their lieutenant-Tucker's her name-just jumped right in. I looked in a time or two, bringing guys in, and there she was, shells slammin' through the ship, smoke and blood all over the place... And her stitchin' and sowin' and giving orders as calm as you please, and her no bigger'n a button. I don't know what we would've done without her. Would've lost more men for sure." He stopped. "They when through hell, though, all of 'em. We had a lot of wounded-and them losin' one of their own..."

"I'll have to thank her. Thank them all." Matt took a deep breath and let it out. "I'll have a rough idea of our casualties. I want the specifics when I take a report from each division. A lot of letters to write..."

Courtney Bradford ascended from the ladder at that moment and presented himself.

"I understand you need a pilot for these mysterious seas? Of course you do, and I'm just the fellow! The marine life around Menjangan is simply exquisite! There are no shallows, you know, just a sheer underwater cliff with all manner of fascinating creatures clinging precariously to it! Once I lowered a net and dragged it up the side and was amazed by what I found. Amazed!"

"Yes, very well," Matt said, taken aback. "I'm afraid we won't have time for sightseeing. I'd forgotten, though. You said you were a naturist?

"Naturalist, actually. It's a hobby of mine. I planned to write a book one day." He shook his head.

"This confounded war has certainly inconvenienced me, let me tell you!"

"What exactly does a naturalist do?"

"A naturalist, dear boy, is one who studies nature. It's a dreadfully inclusive term, but I'm a dreadfully inclusive naturalist. Most of us tend to have a speciality, but I have broader interest, shall we say. I'm not really an expert on anything, but I know a little about quite a lot. In fact, my book wasn't to be a treatise on anything in particular, per se, but more a general discussion of the various fauna of this region as a whole."

They'd moved into the pilothouse as they spoke, and rest of the watch were surreptitiously straining to listen to the Australian.

"Tell me, Mr. Bradford," asked the captain in a serious tone, " in your studies, did you ever happen to hear about that..." He hesitated, searching for a term. Somehow "sea serpent," however appropriate, didn't strike him as a reasonable description. He finally settled for "creature" despite it's inadequacy.

"I failed to ask you last night before you left the bridge."

Bradford looked pensive and glanced at the others within earshot and lowered his voice. "No, captain. Not ever! I've never even heard of such a creature. Unless, of course..." He paused and removed his hat, fingers massaging his brow

"Have you ever heard of the Syngnathinae?" He asked hesitantly. Matt blinked, and Grey just shook his head.

"They're quite intriguing, actually. It is an animal family consisted of Seahorses and a unique species of fish called Pipefish. The Pipefish itself has the head of a seahorse with a long, thin, snake like tail and body as well as a tube like snout, hence the name. Quite fascinating. I believe it is the Pipefish that most closely resembles our friend from yesterday... with one exception however."

Chief Grey eyed Courtney Bradford with a skeptical expression. "What exemption?"

Bradford looked at them both. "Pipefish only grow about thirty-five centimeters."

Matt looked at Bradford and took a deep breath. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. He definitely didn't need this endless procession of mysteries. He'd hoped that Mr Bradford could sort them out.

"So thirty-five centimeters... You sure on that?" Grey asked.

"Positive, though some Pipefish have been known to grow over forty centimeters." Bradford said.

Grey shook his head. "That thing we saw had to have been a hundred times larger than that, easily. You sure them pipefish can't grow any bigger?"

"Absolutely. I swear I've never heard of one growing so big! And consuming human beings. Preposterous! I didn't mean to imply that..."

"Hmm. Well. Boats, I assume you have duties? Very well. Mr. Bradford? We're going to hide out between Menjangan island and Bali until nightfall. I hope you'll be available if we have questions. I'm going up top for a while." With that, Matt nodded at the two men and stepped up the ladder.

As he claimed, he heard the Chief mutter, "Real cute. If I ever hear you call the captain 'boy' again, I'll toss you into the drink!"

Despite his concern Matt couldn't help but grin as Mr. Bradford shuddered and protested and apologized at once.

"Grey thinks he's spinning an educated fish story," he thought, "but I'm not so sure. We defiantly saw something eat those men, and it was damned real. Every now and then something turns up that scientist can't explain or has never been seen before. Maybe this really big man-eating Pipefish is one of them."

On the fire control platform, he exchanged greeting with the morning watch and peered ahead. The cold air bit at him as for a moment he could almost see his breath in the morning light. The unusually dense fog made it difficult to make out any shapes. But there was land ahead. That much he could tell. But as the view ahead of them became clear Matt found himself at a loss.

He'd expected to see the island of Menjangan along side Bali. But instead the towering form of a strange landmass emerged from the morning mist as two ships came within a hundred yards of the perimeter of a little bay that was several hundred yards wide. Surrounding the bay were a series of steep, barren mountains and rocky cliffs that stood up like mighty walls. The peaks were so high that Matt could clearly see white snow covering their tops. Beyond the body of water the mountains spread out east and west with miles upon miles of shoreline and cliffs with no sign of Bali strait. Matt stood back to take in the scene, dozens of questions flowed through his head.

We're was Bali? He didn't know much about the landscape for many of these islands but he knew that snow was next to nonexistent around this part of the world. If they weren't at Bali then were the were they? Matt knew that in a time of war it was very dangerous for a ship skipper to lose track of his position, especially when surrounded by enemy's. At that moment the speaker pipe for the fire control platform echoed with Chief Grey's voice.

"Skipper, could you report to the bridge sir." He said. Matt remained fixated on the unknown mountains for a moment before waking up to the tube. "I'm on my way." He said.

At the bottom of the latter, Matt came face to face with Mr. Bradford, Chief Grey, and lieutenant Dowden who were surrounding the chart table.

"Report Mr. Dowden."

The newly assigned first officer of Walker just shook his head, muttering to himself before quickly standing up strait to face the Matt. "Sir, I don't understand it. We should be right on top of Menjangan island, just outside Bali Strait."

"Have you doubled checked our position?"

"Mr Bradford and I triple checked sir. The Chief was keeping a close eye on the compass the whole way through." Dowden said.

"One of us must have slipped up during the night. It's the only explanation." Grey said while continuing to sift through the charts and notes.

Mr. Bradford quickly spoke up. "As I told you before, I find that highly unlikely for various reasons."

"Why do you say that Mr. Bradford?" Matt said.

"For one thing, those mountains are much higher that any that I know of in this region." He said pointing out to the mysterious peaks. "Don't get get me wrong, there are many volcanos and volcanic chains in the Malay Barrier, but there are no large mountain chains... Except for on the island of Papua. No, the structure of those mountains are much more like the great Himalayan mountains in Nepal."

"We couldn't have gone that far. We would've run out of fuel by then. And Napal is landlocked." Dowden said.

"I want answers gentlemen. We need to know if we're close to any Japanese forces."

Mr. Bradford was quick to speak up once again. "Captain, I believe I have a theory to our geographical glitch."

Matt regarded Mr. Bradford with a hint of brief irritation towards his interruption only to stop himself and nod towards the Australian. Mr. Bradford continued.

Mr. Bradford cleared his throat. "I propose that we have in fact gone further than any navigational error could ever put us."

"Explain."

"I first noticed the clues right after that strange and dreadful squall. I think that the storm may have somehow changed our position on the globe."

Many of the men in the pilothouse were listening in to Mr. Bradfords as he spoke.

"What the hell do ya' mean the storm changed our positioned? That's impossible." The Chief growled. He hadn't been impressed by Mr. Bradfords explanation of the sea monster, and by his expression he wasn't buying this story at all.

"Many have theorized the possibility of great distances being crossed in short amounts of time though I myself am no expert, but I do know that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Tell me, have any of you not noticed that the temperature has been dropping since yesterday?" He asked.

Boats and Dowden both were quiet for a moment.

"I guess it has been getting colder than usual lately." Dowden said

"Colder than I ever thought possible for this region. And when did you first notice the change?" Bradford asked.

For a moment no one said anything and the only noise was from the waves washing up against the sand beach outside.

"Right after we went through the squall..." Matt said.

Bradford nodded his head in agreement and pointed up at the mountains.

"Snow simply cannot form here because we are far too close to the equator. That much is certain. Therefore we must be someplace else. I don't know where we are, but I can say based on current evidence that we are not where we're supposed to be."

Matt looked out the pilothouse window as waves continued to pound the mysterious beach. Beyond that the towering mountains reined above almost as tall as Matts many questions. One thing was certain. Wherever they were, he needed to get his ships to a safe port in case there were still Japanese to contend with.

"lieutenant Dowden, signal the Mahan. Tell Mr. Ellis that, should the depth allow it, I want to work on maneuvering both Walker and Mahan into that bay for cover. When we get that done, ask if he's comfortable coming across for an hour or so, or whether he'd prefer to report by Morse lamp.

...

Matt sat on the bunk in his tiny cabin and tested his freshly shaven chin with his fingers. It had been difficult negotiating the razor around the painful cuts on his face. "Better" he thought. His eyes were still red with circles underneath them, and he was so tired that when he blinked it seemed his eyelids moved too slowly and then tried to stick together. He sat down on the bunk and listened to the growing conversations in the wardroom. If only he could lean over and lie down. The cramped, uncomfortable bunk was the most inviting thing in the world at the moment.

Someone knocked on the doorframe.

"Sir?" Said Garrett. "Everybody's here."

Matt sighed and rose to his feet. He stepped through the doorway and down the short corridor into the wardroom. Most of his officers and department heads, many new to their jobs, were there. Ellis and a bandage-swaddled ensign named Tony Monroe had come from Mahan. Monroe was assistant navigation officer and aside from Perry Brisher, the chief engineer, the sole surviving officer.

Three of the nurses and the army pilots were also in the room. Courtney Bradford leaned against the far bulkhead since there were too few chairs, and Juan circled around the room filling coffee cups. Cigarette smoke eddied and vented away through the punctures in the hull that made up two of the wardroom walls. In the general hubbub, the captain wasn't immediately noticed.

"Captain on deck!" Garrett shouted.

Everyone came to attention, with the exception of Captain Kaufman, who continued leaning against the bulkhead with an expression of disdain.

"As you were, gentlemen... And ladies," Matt added. Even exhausted, he noticed that the nurses were young and attractive, and he recognized the one who had brought him coffee to the bridge and made a nod of appreciation. One of them, though, the lieutenant, returned his gaze with a frank appraisal of her own.

What lieutenant Sandra Tucker saw was a very tired young man who'd been violently forced to shoulder extraordinary responsibilities under very stressful-and unusual-circumstances. They all knew their predicament, or at least thought thought they did, and it was no secret that there'd been strange goings-on. The mountain range just outside was proof enough. She detected uncertainty beneath his veneer of confidence, but whether that reflected the situation, the unusual events, or the heavy burden of responsibility for two badly damaged ships, she didn't know. Instinctively, her heart went out to him. She was nurse, and she knew when a man was suffering, even through gritted teeth. Through his injuries were superficial, the wounds to his ship and her people were reflected in his eyes.

Matt had an uneasy feeling, looking into her green eyes, that the nurse lieutenant saw beyond his facade of calm, and he quickly turned his attention to the room. "First, our own condition: I don't have all the details yet, but I have some idea. We can steam, our leaks are under control, and we have fuel for a two thousand mile run at twenty knots. Since any plans we may put into motion are contingent upon Mahans capabilities, however, I think Mr. Ellis should start."

Jim nodded and cleared his throat. "Thanks, skipper." He looked around the compartment.

"Mahan took a hell of a beating. She's not sinking, but everything topside is a wreck. Half of her crew is dead and there're twenty wounded. Yeah, that's a pretty lopsided number," he said grimly.

"Most of the casualties ere on the bridge and in the aft fireroom. The ship has no fire control at all. Guns two and four are ok, and we can use them in local control, but that's it. Number one might be repaired, but we haven't really even checked. He sighed wearily.

"The machine guns amidships are okay, so we're not helpless from the air, but all torpedoes are expended and I'd rather not push her past fifteen knots. She can keep that speed it's just... Well" he gestured at the beams of light entering the wardroom.

"Anyway," he continue, "Mahan's short handed as hell, only about forty effectives, but she's not finished yet. Whatever we do, captain, we'll do. We might just want to take it easy. I also hope we don't have to fight again" he chuckled wryly. "At least not as briskly as yesterday."

His last comment drew scattered chuckles, but the humor was tempered by the realization of what that fight had cost.

"What's the status of your wounded?" Matt asked.

"Mostly stable, but we could use a hand. The pharmacist's mate is dead, and the surgeon's run pretty ragged."

Matt nodded, and glanced at the nurses. They were a study in contrasts. The one who'd brought coffee, a woman named Karen Theimer, seemed nervous, jittery, almost fragile. She blinked constantly as her hands squirmed against one another on the table. The one beside her, Pam cross by her name tag, was almost as short as lieutenant tucker and outwardly as self possessed, but her eyes told a different story. The other two nurses, Beth Grizzel and Kathy McCoy, weren't present. The sandy-blond lieutenant was still watching him, which was understandable. Everyone was. But once again, her expression of appraisal left him uneasy. Besides, she was a knockout. He managed to smile at her.

"You must be lieutenant tucker."

She stood from her seat at the table. Since the captain didn't sit, she wouldn't remain seated while speaking to him.

"Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, sir."

"Lieutenant, I apologize for not greeting you when you came aboard, and I'm sorry I haven't had a chance since, but I'd like to thank you now for all the help you and your other nurses have given us. I'd also like to extent my deepest regrets for the loss of Ensign Ranall."

Several heads bobbed, and there was a general murmur of condolences.

"Thank you Captain Reddy. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for Leslie, and for all of our losses. My nurses and I stand ready to help any way we can."

"Thank you lieutenant. As a matter of fact, that raises my next subject, and that's to ask you if you'd feel comfortable detaching a few nurses to Mahan."

"Of course, captain. I'm willing to go, but I'd ask you allow my nurses a choice." She smiled ironically. "Not that there seems to be any difference in the relative seaworthiness of either ship, if you'll forgive my saying so."

Matt smiled back at her amid the ensuing chuckles. "Absolutely. They can choose, but you may not. The needs of the service, not to mention the needs of my crew, dictate that I break with tradition-as well as every regulation that I am aware of-and appoint you as acting medical officer. Under the circumstances, we'll consider it a separate department."

"Yes sir." She grinned. "I wouldn't enter it in the log, though, if I were you."

Matt grinned back. "Perhaps not." He paused, watching her sit, admiring her poise and apparent calm.

"Grey was right," he thought to himself. "She's something else."

He cleared can his throat self-consciously and addressed the others. "Next on our list, lieutenant Dowden is acting exec in Mr. Ellis's place, for as long as he commands Mahan. Ricks Tolson is acting navigation officer. Larry? You and Rick better pick assistants. Think hard about it, but I want your recommendations as soon as possible." He turned to chief grey. "How are the deck divisions?

Grey's brow furrowed, and he tucked his hands behind the belt. "Like we talked earlier, we're still afloat but I'm running short handed too. All the leaks are under control. We welded a lot of seams, which'll have the yard-apes throwin' fits, but there's no way of replacing rivets out in the open ocean. The big holes are above the water line. If we don't run into heavy seas, we'll be okay." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Not a lot of plate steel for patching just layin' around. If we had the time, we could cut patches out of Mahan's aft deckhouse, but for now we're sort of working our way up. I figured the stuff close to the waterline had priority."

Matt nodded. "Very well. Anything to add?"

"Nothing big. Mostly the same stuff the old girl throws at us everyday, times ten."

"Mr. Garrett?"

Lieutenant Garrett now wore a bandage to protect the area on the back of his neck where his skin had been burned during the previous battle. Thankfully, his injuries weren't more serious. He fidgeted and cleared his throat, and Matt suppressed a smile. He'd been the personification of cool professionalism during the action, but now he was more like a school kid than a navy officer.

"Uh, main battery's operational and responding to fire control." He pause and shrugged. "The range finder's wrecked. A big chunk of shrapnel just about chopped it off, but it wasn't any good anyway. The ready ammunition lockers have been replenished. There's something wrong with one of the .50s, but Gunner's Mate Silva says he'll have it working by this afternoon."

"Tell him to get a move on. That one gun represents a quarter of our antiaircraft defense. What about torpedoes? Ensign Sandison's working on them now, correct?"

"Yes, sir. He still doesn't know what the problem was. A connection on the mound, probably?"

"What about the two torpedoes we picked up in Surabaya?"

"They're not sure what's wrong with them. They were condemned. Hopefully it's something we can fix. One is pretty beat up, though."

"Thanks, Greg. Have Sandison's keep me informed of his progress. Now, let's see. Engineering? Spanky, let's hear from you."

"Yes sir, we took a hell of a beating, but it looks like most everything's under control. We might even get number two boiler back on line. We'll keep her going if the water stays out. Twenty knots, at least."

Matt smiled at Spanky's qualifier and started to ask a question, but the engineer wasn't finished. He shook his head and continued in a quiet tone.

"Honestly sir, I don't know how we made it. This old girls had enough before the war even started, but I guess she's tougher. She deserves a lot of credit." He shrugged. "God should get the most, I guess. I didn't see it, but there's talk of a weird squall... Anyway, I'm not real damned religious, but that's where most of the credit should go."

Matt controlled a shudder at the thought of the squall. Somehow, he didn't think God was responsible for that. But who knows? He turned his head towards McFarlane who looked back at him.

"A lot of credit should go to Captain Reddy."

There was a general murmur of agreement to the unexpected complement, and Matt felt his face heat. He didn't think he deserved much credit at all. Spanky's was a good officer, though; he knew how important it was for the crew to have confidence in their captain. For the captain to have confidence in himself. Deserved or not, he appreciated Spanky's gesture.

"Thank you mr. McFarlane." He paused to sip coffee from the cup Juan handed him. As always his eyes strayed to the black printing around the side: captain-uss Walker-DD-163. With mixed feelings he took a deep breath.

"That brings us to the last item of business." He noticed several people shift uncomfortably.

"As most of you know we were planing to make a run down Bali strait tonight in an attempt to withdraw to Australia. We should have had a visual with Menjangan Island this morning. We didn't. According to Mr. Bradford, the landmass that we made contact with does not match the configuration of any shoreline in the region."

Matt let the information sink in before continuing.

"The fact is that at the moment we have no idea were we are or if we are anywhere near Bali, or Southeast Asia for that matter. Weather this has any relation to the squall we went through I can't say for certain. So this afternoon, once we've completed repairs, I intend to take Walker to Surabaya. Or at least where Surabaya should be. If it's there then we should have enough fuel for a twenty knot run to Australia. If it's not there than we'll return to this location and find out what to do." Matt took a deep breath.

"For now I would advise caution with what you say to the crew. They have enough to worry about without a bunch of mysteries. On the other hand if you discourage the talk it'll just make them worry even more. You must all assure the crew by your words and actions that we are taking care of the problem, whatever it is, and that it's not something to concern themselves with. Do I make myself clear?"

There were nods.

"That may be easier said than done." Captain Kaufman spoke for the first time. He stepped forward and put his hands on the table.

"What's the dope on he radio?"

Matt gritted his teeth. "It's still not working."

"That's not what I hear. I hear it's working just fine but we're not receiving anything but static. Have you tried to transmit?"

"Of corse we haven't tried to transmit! We might as we'll paint ourselves pink with a bullseye on the side. For all we know we could be off the cost of Norway were any transmission could lead a u-boat strait too us before nightfall. If we're anywhere near Japanese forces they're bound to pick up the transmission as well. Checking the radio by giving away our position when we don't have the first clue were we are to begin with seems sort of counterproductive, don't you think?" Matts voice rose as his annoyance grew.

"And frankly, Captain Kaufman, as to your earlier statement, if you find it difficult to suppress your fears in front of the men, I prefer you not go around them."

Kaufman's face turned purple. He looked around, surprised to see almost everyone, even the nurses, regarding him with hostility. Only the bandaged ensign from Mahan, Monroe, seemed sympathetic. He barely heard Grey whisper to Garrett: "ought to be in the chain locker with the jap."

He was practically shuddering with rage, and he started to reply, when everyone became aware of a commotion on deck. It might have been going on for a minute or two, with the confrontation the wardroom hadn't noticed. Now they heard running feet and rising voices.

Bernard Sandison burst into the wardroom, wide-eyed and gasping.

"Beg you pardon Skipper, but you better come on deck."

"Are we under attack?"

"No, sir. Not under attack, but... Just please come and see."

As one, spurred by the ensigns cryptic statements, the assembly crowded for the passageway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Make way!" The Bosun bellowed. "Make way for the captain!"

All the officers, including Nurse Tucker, scrambled up the ladder to the pilothouse. Everyone else climbed onto the amidships deckhouse to join most of the crew already there, or along the port rail below. In fact, the port side was so crowded that Walker was heeling noticeably. As soon as he gained the bridge, Matt heard Grey bellowing for the crew to return to their duties before they capsized the ship. It was no use. For the first time, even the Bosuns legendary wrath was wasted. Matt snatched his binoculars from Ensign Tolson and looked toward the rocky shore were everyone was pointing and staring. He adjusted the objective slightly.

The fog had dissipated by now, leaving an unobstructed view of the shore where the land formed a steep grade upward along the side of one of the mountains. There was a flat area were the ground leveled off into a plateau before continuing on. The flat section may have once been part of a natural pathway since it ran along a good length of the mountain. But it what was on the flat area that had everyone's attention, and Matt quickly figured out why.

Walking along were what Matt could only describe as two giant badgers climbing slowly along. Both creatures were about the size of an Asian elephant. But the body shape, the brow fur with white patters around the eyes and back were exactly what he'd would have expected of an artist rendering of, say, an Asian badger. The only difference was the enormous size and possibly the abnormally long, bald tail. At one point, one of the badgers stopped and started clawing at the side of the mountain.

To Matts amazement, within a few seconds it had gouged a one hundred foot deep hole into the side of the rock. The cave was equally as large as the creature itself. After several seconds more the creature was no longer visible as it continued to dig at an astonishing rate. Then the entire cave closed up. It didn't collapse like Matt first thought. The loose dirt and rocks literally started lifting up like a vail being pulled over the entrance to the hole. The dirt then solidified back into solid rock like water freezing into ice. In a matter of seconds the creature, and any trace of it, had disappeared. The remaining creature started spinning its body around in several circles, much like a cat or dog trying to find a position to rest, laid down on the earth beneath it, and made no more movements.

As Matt stood, trying to comprehend what happened he heard a small sound and glanced aside.

"Somebody grab Mr. Bradford. He's about to faint."

Jim Ellis leaned close and whispered. "We're damn sure not in Kansas anymore, skipper."

"Personally," Matt whispered back, his voice shaky, "I liked the black and white part of that movie the best. Everything that happened once it went to color gave me the creeps."

...

Despite the damage done above deck during the previous battle, it was the damage control party's and engineering divisions that had suffered the worst. Most of these men had been resting above deck after being awake for thirty six-hours or more when the commotion about the animals on the shore started. Two of these men were firemen known by everyone simply as the Mice. Their mice like demeanor and their pasty skins gave them their nickname. That and the fact that they almost never came outside? Preferring the heat of the boilers to the outside air. The Mice were sleeping next to the ready ammunition locker behind the number two gun when shouts of giant bangers awakened them.

The Mice slowly got up from their place of rest and filed tiredly back to their lair. There was way to much noise on deck to rest. No good ever came from leaving their boilers. They descended through the hatch when one of the water tenders looked up as they entered.

"What the hell's going on up there? We run aground or something? Why are we heeling over?"

Isak looked over at him with disinterested eyes. "Giant badgers," he said simply. Then he and his friend lay down next to the hull, where the water outside keep the plates cooler. They wadded up a pair of life jackets for pillows and promptly went to sleep.

...

All over the ship, men slowly returned to duty or tried to rest. Some talked nervously among themselves, and others nothing at all. A few might have panicked if not for the steadying influence of the other hands. But for the most part, the men took it in stride. It was just one more thing. What was one more thing after all they'd been through? They knew something was happening and they knew it wasn't right, but at that point they were too tired to be frightened. Men from Mars flying on giant purple chickens couldn't have gotten a more lasting response, but they probably would have been shot at if they came too close.

Dennis Silva was thinking just that. He manned the .50- caliber machine gun on the port side of the amidship deckhouse. He'd been almost finished putting it back together when the commotion started, and he'd been one of the first to see the creatures. Now he stood, still watching with a few others. The one badger was still resting in the same spot. Every once in a while, however, it would lift its head up and start sniffing into the wind. After a few seconds it would stop and lay its head on the ground an fall asleep again.

"Boy," exclaimed Silva, "I'd like to shoot me one of those!"

Tom Felts and Paul Stites looked at him.

"What the hell for?" Stites asked.

Silva shrugged. "Ever'body and ever'thing's been pickin' on us lately. I feel like pickin' on something myself for a change."

Felts shook his head. "I wouldn't pick on one of those dame things. Hell, Dennis, that other one dug through solid rock like nothing! What if they can swim? You'd have giant rock crushing badgers down on us too! Ain't the Japs enough!?"

Stites peered over the side at the water speculatively. "You think them things are really badgers? I mean, they ain't supposed to get that big right?"

"Course they ain't supposed to get that big. There ain't supposed to be none here at all. There ain't supposed to be goddam mountains here ether. All that's supposed to be here is a fine beach and a bunch'a nu-bile young native girls running around without skirts."

Stites and Felts both looked at the island. "Well, where the hell are they?"

"Better ask the skipper, fellas." Silva's grin went away, and when he spoke his voice was uncharacteristically subdued. "I'll bet he don't know either.

...

For the first time since she could remember, Sandra didn't know what to do. She didn't have an answer or a solution or even a suggestion. That hit her almost as hard as anything else. Seeing the giant creatures did something to her that nothing, not even the sight of the strange eerie shore, had ever accomplished: it shook her sense of pragmatic self-assurance to its core.

She was still on the bridge, although she doubted she was supposed to be, but no one asked her to leave. There were no more critical patients to treat, and the seriously injured had been transferred to their berths. If not for the possibility of air attack, she would have already asked to have them moved on deck for fresh air.

"Maybe I should move them up," she thought, but the latest shock left her unable to concentrate properly. She'd always prided herself on her ability to adjust to any situation; that was what a good nurse had to do. But this! What was going on?

She looked at the captain. He was deeply involved in a whispered, serious conversation with several officers. After the initial excitement, the ship grew eerily quiet. She looked aft. Now the mist had cleared and the sun beat down once more, but the cold air continued to hang over the little bay. Most of the men had resumed their duties, or the perpetual quest for warmer clothing. Now and then, however, she saw men glance furtively at the island as if to confirm they'd actually seen what they thought they had. She looked again herself. Sure enough, the giant animal was still there. She shuddered. She was not imagining things. If she was, so was everyone else.

She looked back at the group of officers and saw the fatigue in their expressions-the tired, bloodshot eyes and haunted looks as they too glanced nervously toward shore. Captain Reddy looked little better than the others, but she admired the way he hid the fear and uncertainty he must feel. He just stood there, listening attentively and nodding occasionally. When she heard his murmured words, she was encouraged by how calm he sounded. She found it ironic and unsettling that, shortly before, she had been evaluating his steadiness from a perspective of self-confidence. Now she looked to him for reassurance.

Courtney Bradford had recovered himself, and now was leaning against the bridge-wing railing and staring in fascination through a set of binoculars. She moved next to him.

"Are they really... Badgers?"

"Of course! Other than size and their oddly designed tail there is very little difference. Normally I would say they shouldn't be here. But our circumstances are anything but normal. For example..." He pointed to the white snow capped mountains. "Those mountains should not be here. As I told our captain, Bali has no mountains high enough to have snow. It has not been long since my last visit and no amount of heavy machinery could have redesigned the landscape in such a way. Even if we had gone off course and ended up somewhere other than Bail. There just isn't any landscape in this region that looks remotely like what we are seeing here. As for the badgers?" He shrugged and smiled happily. "I have no explanation."

"But surely... What could have happened?" She pointed across the water. "Badgers can't grow that big, can they?" She said.

"Once again, I have no idea." He said. "Perhaps that discerning squall had some unusual effect beyond what we experienced? A theory that I presented to the captain earlier when we came across this strange landscape. But the question is what did it do? This is not our first encounter with such a mystery. That nasty fellow of a sea serpent we encountered after the squall looked very similar to a species of pipefish I remembered. But the fish in question was only capable of growing several centimeters."

Sandra was quiet. Her mind furiously trying to make sense of the information she was receiving. "But... giant animals, how could that have happened?" Her voice was almost pleading.

"I don't know." Bradford said. His smile fading. "I just don't know.

...

The two ships spent the night anchored in the cove while repairs continued and officers pondered what to do. It was clear to everyone that something extraordinary had happened to them. Mr. Bradford was quick to retract his original theory of geographic displacement stating that the encounters with the sea serpent and the giant badgers right after the squall were no coincidences.

But that still left the burning question of what had happened. Was this simply some bizarre phenomenon located in the vicinity where the squall had occurred? Or had they been transported somehow to an entirely alien world? No. That couldn't be. The stars were still the same, the almost full moon did exactly what it should as it traversed the heavens overhead, and according to Mr. Bradford quick examination, after a brief journey to shore aboard the whaleboat with Tony Scott and Dennis Siva, the rocks weren't any alien from what one would find on any other rocky beach.

But that couldn't be. Nothing that had happened since the fight with Amagi and their subsequent entry into the squall had been normal. The moon, the stars, the sun itself, and the very air they breathed-the smell of the sea upon which they rocked-all testified to their senses that nothing had changed. But there were monsters in the water and giant animals on land, and that just couldn't be.

Despite all their planning in the wardroom that day, no one knew how to proceed. If they'd been transported to another time or place, what about the Japanese? Were they still in danger from attack? If they went to Perth, would it even be there? Would the land mass difference extent elsewhere? If so, how would they navigate?

Like any good destroyer commander, even in the face of such profound questions, Matt immediately be gain to worry about fuel. What if the phenomenon extended to Australia? Where would they get their fuel? If it was even possible that Perth was gone, should they risk wasting all their fuel to find it? These were the questions he pondered now. The immediate concerns. What they would do in the long run hadn't even entered his tired mind.

Like most destroyer men in the Asiatic fleet, Matt didn't have any family back home to worry about other than his parents. A lot of the old hands left wives and sweethearts in the Philippines, but most of them had already resigned themselves to the fact that there was nothing they could do for them while the Japanese ran unchecked. Even when they steamed away from Cavite that last time, Matt was struck by the stoicism of most of the married men. They knew they might never return. If they did, that would be good. If not, they would keep fighting until the did. It was all very matter-of-fact. Now Matt wondered how the men would react to leaving their whole world behind. He wasn't yet prepared to deal with that right now. Right now his primary concern was for the safety of Walker and Mahan and how best to use their fuel.

Utter fatigue finally forced him to turn in, but before he did, he ordered Jim to shut down one of Mahans boilers. Walker would keep both hers lit, just in case, but henceforth, they would conserve fuel any way that they could. It was all he could do. Perhaps after some sleep he would thing of something. Maybe he would wake from this terrible dream and find that all he had to worry about, once more, was the Japanese. He lay down on his bunk, not even bothering to remove his uniform. The temperature was still very low and even now he felt the cold bypass his skin and settle in his core. He was so very tired., but a vast tension clutched his chest. Even as he reached to turn out the light, the ghost and monsters of the last few days began to gather around.

...

Matt was siting on his chair on the bridge when the forenoon watch came on a 0800. The familiar routine of the watch change had a soothing effect that helped dispel the aftereffects of unremembered nightmares that had plagued his sleep last night. Lieutenant Garrett relived Larry Dowden, who immediately went in search of a warm place to rest. Garrett looked like he had a difficult night too, and he acted for a moment like he had something to say, but then he stepped onto the port bridge-wing where Courtney Bradford stood.

The Australian was currently fixated on the landscape and was scribbling down notes about the various plant life he could see on a peace of paper, even though there wasn't anything other than a few bushes striking out amongst the rocks. The badger was gone. But the imprint of its body still remained on the plateau which it had rested on the day before.

Matt stood and stretched, then went back to stare at the chart. He then heard the sound of someone climbing the ladder at the rear of the pilot house and checked his watch. Right on time.

"Morning Jim."

"Morning Skipper," Jim Ellis said.

"Sleep well?" Jim made a wry face and stifled a yawn. Matt chucked.

"Look, I've decided to proceed with our original plan. I know you'll probably not like it but I'm going to take Walker west and try to find Surabaya. If the... phenomenon has affected Surabaya like Bali, we can only assume the same is true for Australia, if not the entire world. If it's still there and nothing's changed, or if we spot the Japanese, we'll come back to collect you. Mahan will remain here until we return. I'll leave you three of the nurses and all of our most seriously wounded with you."

Jim grimaced for a moment.

"I know your shorthand so I won't leave you the prisoner to guard, but I will inflict you with Captain Kaufman. Maybe he can be useful for you. I think his lieutenant will be of help as well." Matt motioned towards Bradford.

"I think I'll take Mr. Bradford along as well. He might prove useful again if we have to search for fuel."

Jim finally spoke. "I don't like the idea of you leaving ether, but given our situation I don't see any other choice. Mahan would just slow you down and give you something to worry about in a fight. As for Mr. Bradford, it's probably best if he went with you. If another giant animal were to show up here again there'd be nothing I could do to stop him from jumping overboard and swimming ashore."

Matt chuckled. "Very well. We might as well get started. If we're not back in three days take the Mahan and proceed east along the coast as far as you can. If we don't catch up with you after that, we're not coming.

...

The morning mist was clearing up by the time the personnel were transferred from Walker and the sound of the anchor chins filled the bay. Matt stepped out onto the starboard bridge wing as he looked up at the mountains. According to Mr. Bradford the mountains were similar what one would expect any chain of mountains to look like. But after the past twenty-four hours, to Matt, they were the most alien thing he had ever seen.

"Starboard engine ahead slow." He said quietly, but the his voice still carried over to the helmsman.

"Starboard ahead slow, aye," confirmed Tony Scott.

Matt sighed. The routine of ship handling soothed the tension of their predicament. The anchor came aboard as the ship twisted to maintain her position and the men on the fo'c'sle leaned against the safety chain to hose the mud and weeds off the anchor. It was a procedure he'd witness many times but for the first time he truly appreciated the efficient and mater of fact way the deck apes handled it. It reminded him that no matter what happened, some things never changed. Things like duty.

Suddenly, just as the ship was clearing the mouth of the bay, the intercom buzzer sounded and the bridge talker opened the circuit to the lookout, Alfred Vernon.

"Bridge! I have a surface target... Strike that, multiple surface targets! Bering three five zero! Range... Damn! It's hard to tell. The mist is still heavy outside the bay. I make them six zero, double zero! It looks like there's a lot of them! I'd say at least eight!" Vernon's voice was pitched high with excitement.

"Sound general quarter!" Matt shouted. "Signal Mahan to head for the rally point. We'll... distract whoever it is and catch up tonight!"

...

In the aft fire room, Spanky had just returned the coffee pot to the burner when the general alarm sounded. Then the telegraph rang up "AHEAD FLANK" and all hell broke loose. He dropped his cup as he reach to grab hold of something to hold onto. The stern crouched down as Walker surged ahead. The Mice frantically worked to keep water out of the turbines. Isak swore as the coffee pot fell to the floor, send scalding liquid on his legs.

Spanky looked around at the aftermath of the chaos and wiped sweat from his brow.

"Bloody hell!" He muttered. "Guess the skipper didn't take the hint when I told him to take it easy

...

Chief Arnook stood on the bow of the lead cutter ship observing the sun as it ascended above the horizon. The bright warm rays cut through the cold air from the night before. The elderly leader could also hear the sounds of the others on the deck. The cool, light breeze and sounds of the ocean caused a feeling of elation to washed over him.

It had been so long since he had sail in open ocean. After decades of self isolation, the only opportunities for the tribes inhabitants to travel beyond the walls and shores of their home was during the assembly of the great hunting party's. These large fleets would carry young warriors and benders to find and hunt the creatures of the sea for food and raw materials. They also provided water benders an opportunity to train in the open ocean.

Arnook hadn't been on one of these hunts in ten years. He almost didn't go on this one. It must have been just as the fleet was about to leave that a strong force from within his spirit urged him to board the lead ship for one last voyage, despite protests from Master Pakku. Whether this sporadic feeling was one of nostalgia or some deep form of intuition, Arnook wasn't sure. But nonetheless this years hunting party would be leaving with its chief. Of course the council of elders would be able to watch over the tribe in his absence.

The fleet itself functioned like a small, mobile village with all the necessities to sustain the crews. A multitude of people and their abilities helped bring function to the fleet. Like the blood pumping through a living creature, they went about their tasks. There were hunters, benders, and even healers. All necessary for the three week trip across the ocean.

As Arnook watched the activity a familiar figure approached him.

"Master Pakku. It's good to see you out and about."

"Charmed." Pakku said in his a monotone voice. By the look on his face he was not in a pleasant mood.

"And how are your students faring?"

Pakku's face twitched as if a horrifying insect had landed on his nose. "Not the most stellar of classes. Nor the brightest."

"I'm sure you can get them into shape."

"Try telling that to pupil Wei who almost sent me overboard with his poor excuse of a water whip."

Arnook smiled a little. Despite his harden demeanor Master Pakku was the best water bending instructor in the Northern tribe, possible the whole world as they had lost contact with the Southern tribe and therefore had no way of knowing if she survived the last hundred years. Part of his success stemmed from the fact that Pakku took pride in his work. He was hard on his students because he cared about their success. He worked them to the breaking point because he wanted the best out of them. Though few people other than Arnook knew about this.

The chief was about to look back out at the water when someone's voice reached his ears.

"Chief Arnook! Lookout reports smoke to port side, six miles out! He believes it is a fire nation vessel."

The voice had come from one of the warriors near the stern. By the tone in his voice Arnook suspected there hadn't been time to pass the word across the ship. Both Arnook and Pakku looked over to the left and sure enough, just beyond the horizon, a faint cloud of smoke was rising up. The smoke was unnatural and could only be coming from a fire nation vessel approaching at high speed.

"Pass the word! Make ready the Warriors and get the healers below deck! Break out the weapons!" Arnook shouted in a deep but powerful voice that urged everyone in the ship and other vessels nearby. Soon the activity doubled as everyone made preparations.

"Let us pray to the spirits that we survive this day old friend." Arnook said.

"You do that." Pakku responded as he made his way aft. "I have some students to prepare for battle."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **Yes I know this update took a long time. Again, I was just busy with other things and I let the work slip past me. I will now go sit in a dark corner somewhere to serve my one hour time out. There's some trivial information about the U.S.S. Walker at the end of the chapter if you all want to check that out.**

"I can't tell yet!" Answered Vernon in the crows nest. "Their too small and the haze hasn't cleared. But there's a lot of them though!"

Dowden clambered up the ladder to the pilothouse, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"What is it, Captain?"

"Don't know yet, Larry. Something off the coast." Matt smiled grimly. "Sorry to wake you. I have the conn, Mr. Garrett. Take your station, if you please. Torpedoes?"

Ensign Sandison scrambled to his position at the starboard torpedo director

"Their ready sir."

"All stations report manned and ready." the talker said.

Matt brought the binoculars to his eyes. The haze outside the bay was only now starting to clear. From the bridge one could barely make out the forms on the horizon, but they were there. Over a half dozen shapes heading in a northeasterly direction at a rather slow pace. Their rather small size at least eliminated the possibility that they were Japanese Capitol ships, and erased Matts fears that all their efforts the past few days was for nothing. But until they got closer there was no way to be sure what type of ships they were dealing with. Even against other destroyers and corvettes Walker was at a disadvantage in her weak state. All they could do was get within torpedo range, fire their remaining fish, and run like hell under a smoke screen.

In the background the talker asked the lookout to repeat himself.

"Captain?" He said hesitantly. "Vernon says he's above the haze now and can see a fare amount of the target. He said they ain't any Jap ships he's ever seen."

"Explain!" Matt snapped.

"Sir. He says they have sails."

All binoculars were instantly pointed out in the direction of west scrutinizing the contacts. Whatever they were, they did have sails. Lieutenant Garrett's voice came over the comm, calling out range estimates.

"Range six four five oh. Bering three one oh. Speed ten knots. Captain, I have a solution on the lead target. Request permission to commence firing."

Captain Reddy tore his gaze from the mystery vessels and strode to the intercom himself. "Negative Mr. Garrett. I repeat, negative! Hold your fire. Continue to track the target but hold your fire!" He returned to stand beside his chair and raised his binoculars again.

"Engines slow to two-thirds. Left ten degrees ruder. Let's see what we have here."

In less than a minute the entire crew could see the small fleet of vessels as Walker approached. In contrast to what they had seen from a distance there was actually over a dozen ships in close formation. Eight of the vessels were small cutter ships with blue tinted sails. Their hulls seemed to be made of wood carved out in a way that gave each vessel a curved and bulged hull. There was also a small amount of smaller boats surrounding the others. These boats had a flat deck with no sails and a catamaran design.

Inhabiting each of the vessels were hundreds of humanoid figures. Most of the people seemed to sport strange thick indigo colored coats that looked rather inviting to the destroyer men in the brisk cold morning. Several dozen younger men armed with what looked like spears lined the sides of the ships. And on each ship, people looked upon the American Destroyer with the same curious expressions as that of the crew of Walker.

"Bring us alongside Mr. Scott. No closer than a hundred yards. Slow to one-thirds." He turned to the talker. "Try to raise Mahan over the radio and tell her to hold her horses." Perhaps they had repaired her radio. Matt thought to himself.

"Sir!" Cried Sandison. "What about the Japs? Won't they hear us transmit?"

An explosive giggle escaped Tony Scott, but he managed to compose himself. Matt let out a breath as he gestured out the window with his chin.

"Mr. Sandison, I don't think believe there are any japs. Not anymore."

...

The chattering voices grew progressively quieter as the metal ship approached. The original atmosphere of panic was slowly being replaced by curiosity as many struggled to get a glimpse of the newcomers. The healers and younger members of the party had already been ushered below decks and water-benders were already standing ready on the small catamaran boats. Warriors lined the side of each ship In preparation for a battle that many wondered would ever come.

There was no way they could escape anyway. The light breeze didn't provide enough propulsion for their sails and there wasn't enough water-benders to speed up the entire fleet. Not only that but the strange vessel came upon them so fast that there was very little they could have done anyway. But as the ship approached many of the men, including chief Arnook, began to wonder why the vessel did not attack.

Arnook stood at the bow of the lead vessel watching as the iron ship came along side. It matched the speed of the fleet but Arnook couldn't help but sense that the long metal ship was struggling to keep that pace. Like it was resisting an invisible force. The speed at which the ship approached them not too long before had astonished him. How could any ship, even a fire-nation ship, achieve such a pace?

It wasn't long before Arnook heard the footsteps of Pakku behind him.

Arnook took a deep breath of cold, dry air as he considered the fleets next move.

"Strange that they have not attacked yet."

"All the more reason to do so ourselves while we still can." Pakku responded.

"Still, there something not right about this iron vessel. They do not attack nor give any threats. Not even demands for surrender are given. Doesn't that strike you as odd?" Arnook asked.

"Perhaps it is a trap meant to lure us into a false sense of security."

"Perhaps, but to what end? Why would a vessel as fast as theirs need to throw us off in such a way?"

"I don't know, but if they are not Fire-nation then who could they be? Who could build a vessel of iron and metal like that?" Pakku's voice began rising from a quiet tone to a harsh whisper as the conversation went on.

"Who knows. Perhaps they are spirits from the east?" Arnook said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he attempted to ease the tense atmosphere.

Pakku raised an eyebrow. "Spirits from the east? I was aware that spirits came from all directions. These must be distinguished spirits indeed."

At that point the ship was close enough that one could see the details. Most of the ship was grey with strange reddish streaks across her hull. Arnook could see a strange set of symbols that may have once been white on the bow just above the waterline. The only other source of color was the flag located at the stern of the ship. In contrast to the rest of the ship the flag sported a bright series of red and white strips with white stars against a blue background in the top corner. It's vivid color stood out against the dull grey of the rest of the ship.

Standing on the deck were several human figures, each one was wearing stained white pants and shirts. Some had flat white hats on their heads. Of interesting note all of them seemed to be staring back with similar looks of fascination and curiosity as that of Arnook's fellow tribesmen.

"What do you intend to do now?" Pakku asked.

"If they don't attack, and continue to do nothing, I will continue to stare at them. It seems to have worked well so far."

...

By now most of the crew was fixated on the strange ships and their inhabitants. A reaction that mirrored their encounter with the giant badgers as Matt observed the people that inhabited the flotilla. He also noticed Grey standing with the number one gun crew on the fore deck. He too was looking at the ships. The gun crew traded nervous glances, but had themselves under control. The bosun's presence probably helped.

Cigarette smoke wafted back from the gun crew, and Matt couldn't help but feel amused that Grey had, at least temporarily, relaxed the no smoking on duty rule. With a start, he looked aft and saw that the transgression was universal. Even Dennis Silva struck a light to a smoke with hesitant hands. The big gunners mate never smoked. He preferred chewing tobacco, because there weren't any safety restrictions, as long as he spit it out over the side.

Sandra Tucker stood behind Matt, her own eyes glued to the newcomers. He didn't recall when she'd come onto the bridge, but he really didn't object to her presence. Courtney Bradford merely stood, mumbling words under his breath.

Matt didn't know what to think. Amazed perhaps, shocked. The design of the boats and the clothing worn by the people on them reminded him of Inuit tribes that he had read about. And knowing that the nearest Eskimo was probably thousands of miles away gave Matt a bizarre sense of relief. For now he knew with complete certainty that nothing was certain anymore. At least now he could plan accordingly.

"Perhaps we should try to contact them." Bradford said aloud, not really to anyone.

Matt didn't answer. He already had his mind made up. "Any word from Mahan?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Nothing, sir."

"Very well. Mr. Scott, right full rudder. All ahead two-thirds. Let's see if we can pick up their trail." Matt noticed Mr. Bradford's disappointed expression. Before the man could speak, Matt politely but firmly raised his hand.

"As much as I would love to talk with the "locals" Mr. Bradford, I would prefer we meet up with Mahan first. They we can come back and get some answers. Besides," Matt said, gesturing to the flotilla. "Something tells me those boats can't do more than ten or twelve knots max. We'll have plenty of speed to find them."

The Australian looked like he was about to protest but instead gave a thoughtful nod before turning his gaze back towards the fleet of boats. On impulse, Matt raised his palm outward and waved at the unscrupulous faces.

"Open my word!" Bradford exclaimed when the gesture was hesitantly returned by a few of the figures as Walker peeled away.

...

"Chief Arnook! The iron ship is leaving!" One of the guards shouted.

He was right. Almost instantaneously the water at the stern of the metal ship begin frothing and foaming. Then, as the invisible force restraining it let go, the ship took off. The waterspout at the end intensified to the point that Arnook actually felt the sting of cold salt water on his skin despite the distance.

Then a strange thing occurred. On a platform extruding from the large structure at the front of the iron vessel he could clearly see one of the figures raising his hand to wave to the fleet. Arnook, as if by instinct, rose his own hand and waved back to the figure.

The ship ran south towards the mainland before turning turning to the east. The glare of the morning sun blinding any clear view. As quickly as it had come, the ship had disappeared over the horizon

Slowly the crowd on deck began to disperse. With the probability of danger gone many of the younger children and healers finally emerged from below deck. Before long those who had seen the iron ship and those who hadn't began to exchange theories and stories. As the atmosphere in the flotilla slowly returned to normal Arnook quickly summoned Master Pakku and the other boat captains to discuss the strange events.

...

Every surviving officer was now gravitated to the pilothouse. None had abandoned their posts without proper relief and all stations were manned. But nearly everyone responsible for other men had come. It had not been planned nor discussed. It was as if they all knew it was time to go to the captain and hear what he had to say. Matt wasn't surprised by this, nor was he worried about mutiny, but he knew a threshold had been reached. The men had been through hell even before things became so strange. When it had, the men took it in stride, determined to carry on to the end. Only there was no end. For some reason, nothing was the same anymore. And if there was one thing Matt learned about his destroyermen, it was that they didn't kindly accept change.

Matt could already tell that the change would be harder on some than others. Many of the crew had been on the same ship, on the same station, and with the same shipmates for years. One of the characteristics of the Asiatic fleet had been that nothing changed. A repeating, decades long routine had been established and until the War, there'd been no reason to disrupt it. The men with Filipino wives had expected to serve their time and retire in the Philippines, were they had grown accustomed to the routine of life. The war destroyed that life, but they'd fallen back on the routine of the navy. Many hoped that they could hold onto that until the war was over, and that everything would be restored to the way it was before. Now even that hope was gone. All that remained was their ship, their, duty, and each other. That would have to be enough.

"Shipwide," Matt said, wondering what he would say.

"Now hear this!" He began, repeating the preparatory phrase that would have been used for any ordinary announcement.

"A few of you may have noticed some strange goings-on." He smiled and waited for the nervous laughter to die, then continued in a serious enough tone.

"I don't know any more than the rest of you about what's happened. When I find out. I'll tell you. That's a promise. I won't lie though. The situation is grim. We're a beat-up tin can that's been though a hell of a fight. We have limited stores, ammunition and fuel." He pause for emphasis.

"And I can't tell you from where, or from whom we can resupply. If an opportunity presents itself in the future we may try to make contact with the local residents. But until then my plan is to collect Mahan and then begin searching for a source to fill our needs. Once we finish that we can worry about the big picture. That's the bad news." He sensed a flicker of humor over the profound understatement.

"The good news is, nobody's shooting at us. Everything else around us has ether changed or disappeared but that seems to include the Japs, so we shouldn't have to worry about getting blown out of the water for now. We'll secure from general quarters."

He was about to hand the microphone to the talker but changed his mind. "One more thing," he said. "Whatever's happened to us, you can look at it a couple of ways. You can see it as strange, and I can argue with you on that. Weird? Defiantly with you on that. Bad? We'll see. You might look at it as our salvation, because we as good as dead before. Whatever else it was it was that." He watched the thoughtful expressions and saw a few nods.

"And another thing. Wherever we go, whatever we do, no matter what's happened- whether we're still part of Des-Ron 29 or all by ourselves, we're still Walkers! We're destroyermen! And we are still a part of the United States Navy!"

The nods became more vigorous and he sensed... approval. He sighed and glanced at his watch. "Everyone return to your duties. Damage control and repair has priority. Funeral services at 1300. That is all."

...

Lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya sat on one of the chairs beside the table in the wardroom, his hands cuffed together. A chain extended down to a pair of leg irons at his ankles. The bandage on his head drooped and obscured his left eye. The cold breeze washing in from the shell hole didn't help ether and he couldn't help but wonder when was the last time he felt air this cold. Sitting across from him was the American Marine who'd been watching him since he regained consciousness. He wasn't fooled by the Marines apparent ease. Nor did he think that he wouldn't use the .45 holstered at his side if given the least provocation. Together, they listened to the captains words from the speaker. Although he pretended not to understand, Shinya honestly didn't know if he felt like laughing or if he wished the terrible serpent had gotten him after all.

He wasn't a career navy officer, but a reservist, the son of a wealthy industrialist. He'd spent several years attending UC-Berkeley in the United States. He entered the Japanese Imperial Navy because he was supposed to, and he was a patriot. He did not join up because he favored his country's China policy, although his father glowed at the idea of a Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. Fortunately, the war in China was an Army operation. In the Navy, he would be among cooler and more thoughtful heads.

When war was declared on America, he couldn't believe it. He'd been there! He'd seen! He knew as well as anyone how dangerous war with the United States would be, not to mention-according to his sense of honor, wrong. Of corse it was difficult for him to be objective. He liked Americans, and he'd made friends in California. And he believed he understood the cultural chasm that separated his people and the United States, even if it prevented reconciliation. The alliance with Germany and Italy might have made war inevitable, and maybe winnable, but he couldn't ignore his sense that the way it started was wrong and sure to provoke American fury.

By all means the war was going well so far. The attack on Pearl Harbor meant that there were almost no Allied heavy capital ships left to impede Japanese naval progression in the Pacific. The very relic he was imprisoned aboard was also a sure sign of American unpreparedness. But he'd been at Balikpapan and saw what they could accomplish with their aged weapons. He feared the outcome if the war was allowed to drag on and new weapons reached these determined men. Then came the lopsided fight when his destroyer screened the battlecruiser Amagi against the two old American ships. He'd been amazed and even proud of their bold charge. They'd had no choice, but it was stirring all the same.

Of course, when two torpedoes vaporized his ship from underneath his feet, all considerations except staying afloat became secondary. He didn't remember what struck him on the head, and he didn't remember being fished from the water. He did remember a bizarre, stomach-wrenching sensation, but nothing else until he woke aboard the American destroyer. He'd heard things, though, whispered by men who didn't think he understood.

Then he saw the caravan of boats through a shell hole in the hull. The construction was primitively in design and at first he thought they were local fishing boats. But small, minuet details from both the boats and the people who crewed them suggested they were Inuit in origin. Was that even possible? Surly they could not have traveled this far south? And the fact that the weather had become so unusual, it was too much of a coincidence. Something was defiantly wrong.

He didn't know how or if it would affect him. He was a prisoner of war, he supposed, but what did that mean? How should he act? His situation wasn't often discussed in training. Surrender was not considered an option by his instructors, so how to behave in enemy hands was never mentioned. Deep down he felt vaguely guilty for having survived, although there was nothing he could have done. In any event, whatever he expected to happen to him as a prisoner, being shuffled from compartment to compartment but otherwise ignored wasn't it. No one even asked him a question. They didn't know he spoke English, but the young aviation officer knew Japanese. It seemed unnatural they wouldn't care what he knew of the Imperial Fleets dispositions. He resolve to say nothing, but no one came for him and he grew nervous.

Then, not long ago he gazed through the shell hole in the side of the wardroom, it became clear that whatever information he might have likely did not matter to his captors at all. So he sat alone with his thoughts.

There was movement behind the curtain at the entrance and a head poked out around it. Then the curtain slashed back into place and a voice whispered "Shit. The Jap."

The Marine smirked slightly. Then he looked at Tamatsu. "That's the new exec. Somebody remembered you. Maybe he'll remind the captain." He grinned darkly. "I hope he tosses you back into the water."

Thirty minutes later the curtain moved again and two men entered the room. One was younger than the other and had a brisk, businesslike demeanor. He had brown hair, but unlike everyone else Shinya had seen, there was no trace of stubble on his cheeks. His green eyes showed fatigue, but they were also alert and curious.

The other man was older, shorter, with a noticeable paunch. He looked tired too, but his expression wasn't curious. It seethed with hostility. The guard jumped to his feet as rapidly as his injured leg would allow.

"As you were Sergeant... Alder, isn't it?" Said the first man.

"Alden, sir," he replied. "Sergeant Pete Alden. Marine contingent, USS Houston." He said.

"Glad to have you aboard, Sergeant. I apologize for not speaking you but I've been preoccupied."

"No apology necessary, sir."

"Nevertheless, I appreciate your taking charge of the prisoner in spite of your injury. How's the leg?"

"Fine, sir."

The captain accepted the lie. The injury didn't affect Alden's current duty, and there were plenty of wounded at their posts.

"Has he behaved?" Matt said, gesturing towards the Japanese.

"No trouble, sir. Mostly he just sits and looks around. He does what I tell him, and I keep the crew from beatin' him to death."

Grey snorted, but Matt just nodded. He pulled a chair out at the table across from Tamatsu and sat down, looking at the prisoner. The man looked back, unblinking and expressionless. Matt took a deep breath. "What am I going to do with you?" He asked himself aloud.

Tamatsu felt a surge of adrenaline. He knew he should keep his mouth shut and pretend not to understand, but suddenly he couldn't see the point anymore. From what he'd seen and heard the war he was a part of was gone, as were their respective navies and probably even their very countries as well. Such a possibility overwhelmed him, and at first he had suspected some ploy to get him to talk. But then he'd seen the ships and through his shock he knew it was time. If they later discovered he'd been listening in on their conversations, they would never trust him. He was no traitor, but he wanted them to trust him. Wherever they were, whatever had happened to them, they might be there for a very long time.

Hesitantly, he cleared his throat. To the astonishment of the man across from him he spoke in an excellent, lightly accented English. "Captain, I am Lieutenant Shinya. I am your prisoner. Japan did not ratify the Geneva Protocols, but I give you my word that I will cooperate every way I possibly can, short of treachery to my people or government. Under the... Unusual circumstances, I find it unlikely that my cooperation will cause harm to my country. If you are willing to accept it, captain, I offer my parole."

There was a wide variety of expressions in the room. Tamatsu's face remained impassive, but Gray's face clouded with anger and the marine's eyes widened in shock. Matt leaned back in his chair, shaken by yet another surprise, but gathered himself quickly. If there was anything he learned, it was he had a growing ability to cope with assaults to his preconceptions. He only wished the assaults were less frequent.

"Lieutenant Shinya," he said, "that's... a generous offer. I'll take it under advisement. I suppose you heard what I said on the comm a while ago?" The prisoner nodded. "Then you understand that we're in an situation for which there are no guidelines or regulations to look to. Technically, you're a prisoner of war, and somewhere, I assume, that war still exist. It's my duty to present you to my superiors. Since I have no idea when or if that will ever occur..." He spread his hands out on the table. "I'll consider it. I hope you won't find it inconvenient if you remain under the protection of Sergeant Alden?"

...

Matt heard Gray grumbling as they worked their way aft. He'd decided to take a quick walk around and look at repairs while getting a feel for the mood of the crew. He also wanted to talk to Spanky. The engineer was the department head who hadn't heard his comments in person. Grey continued to growl under his breath as they claimed into the open air on the main deck and stepped into the shade of the amidship deckhouse.

Before Matt had gone to see the prisoner he'd finally given the order to begin distributing the warmer clothing, much to the relief of the crew. Already he could see men in petty coats forming a line to the galley and snatching sandwiches from the counter.

"You seem annoyed, Boats," Matt observed.

"That Nip. You ain't gonna let him go, are you?"

"If he behaves, I might. Christ, we've got enough to worry about without guarding a Jap. He offered his parole."

"So? They were making all nice before they bombed Pearl too. We wouldn't have to guard him if..." Gray shifted uncomfortably and glanced around to make sure no one was close by. "We ought to just get rid of him. He's a Jap, for cryin' out loud!"

Matt looked at him. "Get rid of him? You mean kill him?" He shook his head and stared at his crew for a long tim as they ate their sandwiches. He sighed.

"No. We won't. You know why? Because we're Americans and we don't do that. We have rules regarding the treatment of prisoners, rules that make us different from the enemy." He was quiet for a moment and then store aft again.

"Wherever we are, we're still Americans," Grey heard him mutter.

...

 **USS. Walker was a Wickes class destroyer built in June 1918 by the Fore River Shipping Company. The destroyer type was at this time a relatively new class of fighting ship for the U.S. Navy. The type arose in response to torpedo boats that had been developing from 1865. With the outbreak of WW1 and the development of more advanced submarines, the destroyer class saw use as escorts for Atlantic convoys crossing from the U.S. To Europe. The Wickes class were armed with 4 × 4"/50 caliber guns, or 102 mm and 12 × 21" torpedo tubes, or 533 mm.**

 **The USS Walker was a real ship and served in the navy until March 1938 where she was struck from the navy list to be sold. With the outbreak of war in Europe she was put back on the list and converted into a damage control hulk (DCH-1) in 1940. When the Pacific fleets base of operation was moved from San Diego to Pear Harbor the fallowing year it was arranged for Walker to be towed to the islands by a fleet oiler. On December 28, 1941 former destroyer Walker was cast adrift and scuttled by gunfire.**

 **While Walker and her sister ship Mahan were real ships nether of them ever served in WW2. In respect to the wishes of Taylor Anderson, author of the Destroyermen books, none of the ships in this fanfiction currently being depicted, or that will ever be depicted, served in WW2. None of the characters are based on the crews or real people. This is to respect the memories of the actual crew of these ships.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

For the entire next day, Walker steamed east, searching for Mahan. The other destroyer hadn't had much of a head start and she wouldn't be making much steam. They should have caught her within a few hours, but so far there wasn't a trace. Everyone was worried, not only because of her damage but because she represented the only other thing in this very strange world that was familiar. That and some of their shipmates were aboard her.

Captain Reddy wearily climbed the ladder and returned to his chair. He waved the men back to their duties at the warning: "Captain on the bridge!" He hadn't been gone fifteen minutes. A rising tension filled his chest, and though he thought he hid it well, his concern over Mahan was making him almost ill. He had a horrible choice ahead of him.

The once smashed windows had finally been replaced, allowing Matt to look at the sea ahead without the sting of the wind in his eyes. Larry Dowden had the watch, but Matt couldn't stay off the bridge. He knew it looked bad, like he didn't trust Larry, but he'd hardly left at all except to go to the head.

"Report?"

"No contact, skipper."

Matt nodded. They should have seen her. They'd already gone almost two hundred miles. Walker was cruising at over twenty knots, but Matt was certain Jim wouldn't have pushed Mahan so hard. Even if they had made it this far, Jim wouldn't have lingered, and the ship should have been visible on such a clear day. Matts eyes briefly wandered north towards open ocean. He shook his head. No, Jim wouldn't risk it. The rocky coastline was the only recognizable landmark that the crews of both ships had found in this world. What lay in the ocean beyond was something nether Matt nor anyone else was ready to find out yet.

If Mahan wasn't here that left only the inescapable conclusion that she hadn't come this far. They must have passed her somehow, maybe in the dark, but she must be behind them. Unless something had happened to her.

That thought haunted him more than anything. It was his order that sent her away and led to this wasteful chase. He couldn't have known separation was unnecessary, but that did little to console him. Now the worst fear that haunted all destroyermen could no longer be avoided. Walkers fuel bunkers were down by a third. He had no choice. He spoke with a heavy heart.

"Mr. Dowden, bring the ship about. Reduce speed to one-third."

Larry sighed. He knew how painful the order was. He wasn't sure he could have made it. Maybe the other ship really was behind them, but it felt to much like giving up.

"Aye, aye, sir. Helm, come left to a heading of two eight zero."

Matt stood and looked at his watch. "Pass the word, Mr. Dowden. All officers in the wardroom at 1630." He paused. "Better see that our 'guest' is moved elsewhere."

He turned to leave the bridge but stopped. "I take that back. Have Sergeant Alden escort the enemy officer to the meeting." Dowden's eyebrows rose. "Also, see if Mr. Bradford would be kind enough to join us."

"Aye, sir."

...

Arnook and Paku were already seated in the small cabin by the time the boat captains arrived. They each gave a bow of respect for their chief before seated themselves. As the men took their place at the round table Arnook finally spoke. "I'm sure you all know why I've called you all here."

Most of the men nodded. After all, practically everyone in the room had seen the mysterious iron ship that had approached that morning. Arnook continued.

"We, as the leaders of this hunt, need to decide how to handle this revelation and what actions to take."

"I say we turn back. We do not know the intentions of this metal ship. We should not risk everyone's safety by remaining in one place." A young captain by the name of Yakone said. At sixteen he was the youngest of the group and probably one of the youngest captains Arnook had ever met. His fierce determination for success, his outstanding bending abilities, and his proficiency with the riggings of a boat allowed him to join the ranks of the men seated in that very cabin.

"We cannot turn back now! Our people have yet to finish collecting enough giant crab, or whale shark." Another, older captain named Aput stated.

"The winds are in our favor for a return trip, but that may not be the case tomorrow." Yakone said.

For the first time Pakku spoke up. "Yes, and while we argue and bicker, the iron ship could come back. Who knows what they will do when that happens."

"Master Pakku speaks with wisdom. We must turn back and we must do it now lest we be destroyed, and all that we've accomplished in this hunt so far, is lost." Yakone said.

"You know as well as anyone that we would be fools to abandon our voyage so soon Yakone. The damage that could be done to the tribe if we do not finish our hunting is unimaginable." Aput said in a raised tone of voice. His hand was already starting to clench in a fist.

There was a bang as Yakone's slammed his fist on the table. "And you are a fool if you cannot see the danger of staying here!"

Yakone's last line came as a loud shout and everyone present turned towards him and gave him an uncomfortable look. Even master Paku raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise. Yakone's face immediately softened when he saw the hostile expressions.

"Is it necessary for you to raise your voice Yakone?" Arnook said calmly.

"I... I apologize Chief Arnook. I was merely trying to emphasis my point."

"Your point is duly noted." Arnook said. He slowly turned his head toward everyone else.

"I know that many of you share similar feelings to Yakone. But in the end, no mater what, it all comes down to wether or not we return home and allow our fear of the unknown to risk our tribes food levels, or do we continue on and bring back what we need for our families."

Almost everyone there had uncomfortable looks as Arnook kept talking. Many of them agreed with Arnook about staying to finish hunting for food, but at the same time it was difficulty to shake lose the fear that many felt about the situation. The Northern Water tribe had kept itself out of the hundred year war for so long that few remembered what the fire nation was actually like. To many they were the dark spirits that mothers would tell scary stories about to get their children to fall asleep. But even a story had some anchor of truth to it.

Arnook stood up. "Those in favor of leaving-" Yakone, Pakku, and two other captains raised their hands.

"-Those in favor of continuing on an finishing what we started." Though hesitantly, the rest of the captains including Aput and Arnook raised their hands.

Arnook immediately turned towards Aput. "How much time do we need to hunt and collect an acceptable supply of food for the tribe?"

"Three days. That's all the time we'll need." Aput said.

"Good. Return to your boats and see to it." The men quickly began to file out until only Paku and Arnook remained. An award silence filled the room before Arnook spoke.

"I see you voted in favor of returning to the tribe." He said quietly.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Pakku responded.

"Do you truly believe we are in danger?"

Pakku made a "hum" sound before answering. "Right this minute... no. But I think that Yakone may be right about one thing."

"And what is that?" Arnook asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"That we are being rash to assume there is no danger. True, the iron ship didn't attack us. But does that mean it couldn't?"

"We did not see any weapons on it."

"Then what was that long thing on the front of their ship if not a weapon? And there were three others just like it. I believe they are weapons."

"That possibility did not escape me. But consider this; even a leopard-seal with the sharpest teeth can be the most gentlest of creatures."

I hope that is true," Pakku said as he stood up from the table to leave. "For all our sakes."

...

Cigarette smoke swirled and eddied around the room from the breeze coming from the open portholes. The shell holes had finally been patched. Captain Reddy sat at the head of the table, all his surviving officers ranged down either side. The table was crowded, with representatives from each division. Larry Dowden, Chief Gray, Rick Tolson, Bernard Sandison, and PO Riggs sat on his left. On his right were Sandra Tucker, Spanky, Mr. Bradford, and the supply officer lieutenant Alan Letts. The chair on the far side of the table was unoccupied. When Sergeant Alden escorted the Japanese officer into the compartment, a hushed silence fell over the group.

Tamatsu sat in the far chair with dignity, eyes fixed on the captain. Alden leaned against the bulkhead until Juan brought him a chair. He thanked the Filipino and sat down. The room was charged with electric hostility as all eyes looked toward the enemy officer.

"This is lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya. He's offered his parole and I've decided to accept, conditionally. He'll be treated with courtesy and allowed freedom of the ship, within reason. For now, however, he will be accompanied at all times by Sergeant Alden. Sergeant? Is that acceptable to you?"

"Aye, aye, sir. There's not many places I can go now, though."

Matt nodded. "Lieutenant Shinya, allow me to present my officers." He named the people present, and they acknowledged him with a nod, but most were clearly displeased.

"Gentlemen... And lady, Lieutenant Shinya's country and ours many be at war... wherever they are... But that can no longer affect us. That's what we need to talk about. We must make long term plans based on the assumption that we're completely on our own and that the United States Navy can't contact or support us. At the same time, we must remain conscious of the fact that, no matter what, we're still a part of that Navy. There'll be no relaxation of discipline, nor will will there be any change whatsoever in the way we run this ship. Lieutenant Shinya is here because he is, literally, in the same boat as we are. He is also subject to the same rules and regulations as anyone else. There will be no special treatment..." he looked at the officers with a grim expression. "or abuse. Mr. Dowden?"

"Uh, yes sir?"

"Acquaint yourself with the lieutenant and find out if he has any useful talents or abilities. One way or another, find something for him to do. Everybody needs to pull their weight." He looked at Tamatsu. "Is that understood, Lieutenant? Those are my terms."

Shinya bowed his head and replied. "I understand Captain Reddy."

There murmurs of surprise when he spoke English. Most still had hard, closed expressions, but a few looked thoughtful. Matt kept going to divert attention from the visitor.

"First, as I'm sure your all aware, we've turned around. We should have found Mahan, but we didn't, so either we passed her or..." He cast a hard look down the table. "Or she's lost. We'll keep searching as we retrace our steps, but we simply don't have enough fuel to keep going south until we hit a dead end."

"Then you've considered the possibility that all of the South Pacific may be gone?" Questioned Bradford.

"Yes. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if our whole world has been altered. But we must have fuel. The geography and our location may be different but the basics are still the same, granted the beast have put on some weight." There were a few chuckles at the understatement before Matt continued. "Can you think of where we would most likely find oil? Oil that can easily be extracted?"

Mr. Bradford steepled his fingers together. "I'll have to consider that. The land we have seen so far is a less then ideal possibility for oil to be located. I would suggest that we try to find a way south towards the equator. As to where to find it once we get there, I'm not sure. Allow me to consult my manuals. Perhaps they might give me some insight."

"Very well," Matt replied. "See what you can find and let me know as soon as you can." He shifted his gaze to Lieutenant McFarlane. "What else can we burn in the boilers? Can we burn wood?"

Spanky returned his gaze with horror. "Jesus, Skipper! You can't put wood in my boilers! It would screw everything up!"

Matt gave him a sharp look. "I know it's not our first choice, but can it physically be done?"

"Yes, sir..." Answered the engineer reluctantly, "but it would be terrible. All the ash- it would be hell gettin' it all out and it would screw up the boilers. Besides, we'd have to carry tons of the stuff. We've got nowhere to stow it and if we load it on deck we'll be top heavy as hell- beggin' your pardon, sir."

"But would it work in an emergency?"

"It would," he responded miserably.

"Very well. Come up with a plan to stow enough wood to take us, say, five hundred miles, should the need arise."

"Aye, sir."

The captain turned to Sandra Tucker, and involuntarily his expression softened. "Lieutenant Tucker, how are things in your department?"

Sandra smiled at the mention of "her department," which consisted of Kerman Theimer- the only other nurse who remanded aboard Walker- the pharmacist mate Jamie Miller, and herself. There was no question it was her department, and a critical one as well.

"Improving, sir. I think Rodriguez might return to limited duty in a week or two. His leg is healing nicely." She looked down the table and glowered at Sergeant Alden. "Speaking of legs, there are some people walking around on them that shouldn't be."

Alden tried to play ignorant by giving false interest to something under the table.

"The others will survive, though there are plenty of "walking wounded" on duty, but even if I tried to keep them off their feet and in the bunks, I don't think I could." She looked strait into Matts eyes and continued.

"Right now everyone is busy with so much work just to keep the ship running. When the crisis has past I expect a lot of casualties from exhaustion. The crew's burning itself up."

Matt nodded back at her, realizing she was talking about him as as well. "Keep me informed," he said solemnly, and she nodded.

"Mr. Garrett. How about guns? Small arms too." Garrett frowned.

"Is there a problem?" Matt asked. Garret cheeks became red and he shook his head.

"No, sir. No problem. I... I was just a little surprised by the question about small arms. I don't have the precise numbers off the top of my head. No excuse, sir."

The captain allowed a genuine smile. "A general estimate will do. I understand you've been busy with the number three gun?"

"Yes, sir. We've got it working. The big problem was the wiring, but there's also damage to the traverse gear. It binds. I would like to get it to the machine shop."

Matt looked at him thoughtfully but shook his head. "Not now. I don't want any of our weapons out of action." He looked at Ensign Sandison. "Besides, the condemned torpedoes have priority in the machine shop. If we bump into something that our guns can't deal with I'd like to have that ace up our sleeve."

Garrett noticed Bernie writing notes on a pad. He looked back at the captain. "Well, sir, other than that, the main battery's fine. Gunners Mate Silva overhauled the machine guns. The magazine levels could be higher though. We depleted over a third of our four inch fifty and three inch twenty three point five- for all the good it did!" The uselessness of the three inch dual propose gun at the stern would have been a running joke- if it was funny.

"We picked up a lot of machine gun ammo in Surabaya, but those trigger happy goons burned through almost all the extra. We've still got a little more than our full allotment but..." He took a deep breath. "As for small arms, I don't have the exact figures," he replied apologetically, "but we're in fairly good shape. It isn't unusual for Asiatic Fleet sailors to act as marines, especially in China, and the armory has sixty Springfield's, and probably two dozen 1911 pistols. We also have four browning automatic rifles and a half dozen Tompsons. The ammunition head stamps are pretty old, but the stuff looks ok. There's even a few thousand rounds of the old thirty U.S., which is good because there're several crates down underneath everything that say they have Kreg rifles in them. Maybe someone picked them up in the Philippines?"

Grey grunted. "I doubt it. Walker was commissioned in 1919 and a lot of Kregs were still in the Navy. I'll bet they came with the ship. Probably haven't even been taken out of their crates.

Matt nodded. "Look into it. Anything else?"

"Aye, aye, sir. No, sir."

"Very well. Sparks? Does the communication division have anything new?" Matt knew they didn't. He'd asked Riggs several times that day and left standing orders that if they received anything, he was to be informed at once.

Riggs shook his head. "Nothing, skipper. Everything checks out. The equipments working perfectly. There's just no one out there to hear anymore." Everyone already knew it, but to hear him say it again only deepened the gloom. Matt quickly pushed on.

He turned to the Chief to boost morale. "Any major holes left, boats?"

"Nothing you'd call major," he said with a hesitant grin. "The old gals always leaked. No mater how many holes we patch, she was riveted together, but damage control has done a hell of a job." He glanced at McFarlane and grinned even bigger. "Deck apes and snips been working together so well, it ain't natural. We haven't patched the holes in the funnels, but everything that'll let water in has something welded over it."

McFarlane nodded. "She'll float skipper, as long as we have power to the pumps, I'll keep her dry." He looked around the room. "She needs a yard, though." There were grim nods.

"We know, Spanky," said the captain quietly. "Anything else on your end?"

McFarlane shook his head, well aware that he'd lowered everyone's spirits again. "Uh... No, sir, not really. I was thinkin', though. As long as we're trying to conserve, we might want to find more ways to do it. Like we might have the apes hold off chippin' and paintin' until we figure out what to use for paint when we're out. That sort of stuff."

Grey started to protest that if his holy deck wasn't maintained, there'd soon be no deck to maintain. But even the Chief knew you couldn't use what you didn't have.

"Spanky's right," he admitted grudgingly. "I know how the apes'll moan if they can't preform their favorite pastime." He grinned and there were a few chuckles. "But we have only so much paint. I have to paint the welds, but maybe we can let the cosmetic stuff slide.

"Good point," said Matt. He turned at last to the supply officer, Alen Letts. Letts was a skinny kid from North Dakota with red hair, extremely fair skin, and freckles. He hated the sun, and even brief exposure left him with a rash. He was barely seen above deck, and even then he stuck to the shadows. His sincere antics to avoid direct sunlight was vastly amusing to the crew, and he was very popular. He was a good sport about it to, and no matter how sensitive, his skin was also thick. The past few days had been a relief for him, as the sun was spending less time in the sky than it did before the storm.

He was a good supply officer and knew all the bureaucratic angles, but they didn't apply here anymore. From Matts perspective, his greatest flaw was a complacent laziness. He suffered from a disease of "go with the flow" that was profound in the Asiatic Fleet. Matt hoped he could make the transition to the new imperative.

"How do our supplies look?" The captain asked.

"We'll be okay for awhile. We loaded up back in Surabaya. Nobody wanted to leave anything for the Japs." Letts eye's flickered towards their guest. "At present consumption, we've got three weeks before we feel any pinch on perishables. The refrigerator's stocked up. After that we've got canned goods that'll last just as long." He paused. "I'm not counting the Vienna sausages. We'd better find something else before we're down to that or we'll have a mutiny in the chow line."

The entire crew absolutely hated the notorious 'scum whennies' currently stashed away in Walkers storage areas. Matt had no doubt that everyone probably would rather feast on dirt than even dream of eating the things.

Letts expression brightened as he continued. "Even if we don't cut back, we're in good shape food wise for a month, month and a half?"

"We can't cut rations," Matt stated decisively, "not with how hard the crew are working. Besides, it would wreck their morale. We'll just have to find food." He looked toward Courtney Bradford. "I wonder what giant badger stake taste like?"

There was general laughter at Bradford's shocked expression. "Eat badgers? My god. The man's talking about eating badgers!" The Australian muttered to himself.

Matt turned back to Letts. "How's our fresh water?"

Walkers boilers were an open-feed water design, so they could use seawater for steam, but the crew would need fresh water for drinking and cooking. The storage tanks were small and even in peacetime bathing was a luxury. The men would often line up naked for a good spray-down from the fire hose. The salt water drove them nuts and cause rashes, but it was refreshing.

"Waters a problem." Letts admitted. "With the condensers in the shape they are, we've got less than a mouths worth at our current usage."

"Okay, so we need fuel, food, ammo, and water." The captain look at grey. "And paint." There were more chuckles despite the fact that no one knew were to find any of those things. "What else?"

"About a million other things, Skipper," Letts replied, "but those are the most immediate. I'm sure McFarlane could add quite a list of spares."

"Right. Make a list of everything we need, but more importantly, figure out how we're going to get those things. Use whoever you need, but get some answers." Matt turned around in his chair to look a Mr. Bradford. "Would you mind being conscripted?"

The Australians eyes widen with pleasure as he took the pipe from his mouth. "Delighted, captain! Delighted! How can I assist?"

"Work with Letts to sort this out. You'll be his special assistant. I know this isn't the same world you are a student of, but you must have a better idea about where we can find supply's then any of us do. Agreed?"

"Absolutely, Captain Reddy. I'll do met very best!"

"Of course you will."

Matt glanced at Sandra when he said it, and saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. He smiled at her. He was pleased. All in all, the discussion had gone fairly well. He people were active and engaged in trying to solve problems. Morale was better than expected, and the crushing terror of their situation was at bay- for now- by a veneer of normalcy. The tasks were unusual, but the familiarity of doing them within the extended family that was the crew of USS Walker was reassuring.

Throughout the conversation, Lieutenant Shinya was silent. After the initial hostilities, he seamed to have been forgotten, and he just listened. He was amazed by the familiarity with which the Americans talked and worked together. No one was afraid to speak, not even the most junior officer present. There was no hiding the fact that they were in a predicament, but there was no hesitation to mention failings that might reflect poorly on any department. It seemed chaotic compared to his more regimented experience, but it appeared effective. He doubted a similar meeting aboard his own ship would have progressed as well.

Just then, Juan entered the compartment with his pot and began filling cups. He pause by Tamatsu. His face portrayed anguished loathing, and Shinya was reminded that, no matter what, he was still considered an enemy. Juan took a deep breath and started to tilt the pot. It began to shake immediately. Suddenly he slammed it on the table as if the handle was too hot. He look toward Matt in horror.

"I... I am sorry, Cap-tan Reddy," he whispered. I cannot." He then drew himself up and strode through the curtain into the passageway. Everyone watched him go, except Tamastu, who continued to stare straight ahead, but his gaze seemed to have lowered. Matt sighed. Nothing was going to be easy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Walker steamed leisurely in a westerly direction for the remainder of the day. The sea picked up toward evening, and a gloomy overcast obscured the swelling moon. Matt ordered the running lights lit, an unthinkable order just days before. He also stationed men on the two searchlights. They were to sweep the horizon at ten minute intervals, both to show the lights and to see what they could. The ship started to roll as the swells increased just enough to remind everyone that regardless of war, giant animals, sea monsters, or even strange Eskimo people, ultimately, Walkers greatest adversary was the very element she was made for.

By 2200 that night, halfway through the first watch, she began to pitch as the sea ran higher. Matt was dead asleep on the bunk in his small stateroom. Walkers pitching didn't disturb him in the least; he was used to it, and after everything else, the normal, unpleasant motion of the ship was even soothing in a way. When he finally succumbed to his exhaustion, he found a depth of untroubled slumber that even the ghost couldn't sound. So when they hit the whale and he was nearly thrown to the deck, it almost didn't wake him.

The small light over his desk was still vibrating when he looked up at it, confused. The speaker above his pillow squawked in lieutenant Garrett's urgent voice. "Captain! Captain to the bridge, sir. Please." He coughed and cleared his throat, then pushed the comm button. "On my way." He slung his legs over the rack and yanked on his trousers and shoes. Pulling on his shirt and plopping his hat on his head, he hurried down the short corridor to the companionway and scrambled up the ladder. In the shelter by the radio shack, he finished buttoning his shirt and mounted the stairway to the pilothouse. The blowers had subsisted, and the way the ship rolled even more sickeningly told him the engines had stopped.

"Report!" He demanded. Garrett stood on the starboard bridge-wing staring down at the water. He turned when Matt arrived.

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but we hit... I think it's a whale- or something. Down here, sir." He pointed and Matt peered over the rail. The searchlight above them couldn't depress far enough to directly illuminate the creature, but it was still sufficient for him to see clearly.

The creature did indeed have a close resemblance to a whale. It was mostly black with patches of white skin above the eyes and on the underside. The main difference was at the tail. Unlike a normal whale, this creature had a vertical fin much like that of a shark as opposed to a horizontal fin.

Every now and then, the waves caused it's great head to rise, and the large jaws were frighteningly clear. The cause of death was a huge gash behind its head, and the water was tinged with blood from the wound. Sandra Tucker, her hair disheveled, appeared beside Matt, rubbing her eyes.

"It's horrible," she said. Exited voices came from the deck below as destroyermen gathered to watch. Mr. Branford was among them and his voice rose above the others.

"Amazing! We simply must keep it! You there! Find something to tie onto it!

Matt heard someone shout, "Bugger off, mate!" In a fair impersonation of an Australian accent.

"Damage?" Matt asked.

"Lots of broken coffee cups," Garrett answered nervously. "That's all I know so far. The exec took Bosun's Mate Bashear to have a look. Lieutenant McFarlane and the Bosun said they'd meet them there."

The comm on the bulkhead whistled and Matt picked it up himself.

"Bridge, Captain speaking." He said.

"McFarlane here, skipper. There's a little water coming in at the starboard side around frame six. Nothing serious... Just another seam."

"Good. Can the current watch handle it?"

There was a pause before Spanky's voice returned. "Yes, sir. I think so."

"Than you and Boats hit the rack. That's an order."

"Aye, aye, Skipper," came the tired reply. Matt stepped to the rail with a sigh of relief. Sandra was still there. She had overheard.

"Thank god," she said. "It may sound strange, but every time this ship gets the slightest scratch I feel it in my own skin."

"I know what you mean," Matt responded. "When I first took command of Walker I didn't think much of her, but now, after all she's been through..." He gestured to the whale shark hybrid. It's corps had floated several dozen yards away by now.

"Of course, her thin old skin's the only thing between us and whatever's down there. That tends to focus your appreciation amazingly." He chuckled, and after some hesitation, she joined him.

Suddenly, the felt a faint vibration under their feet, and a huge figure rose up beside the ship. It was immediately identifiably as the sea serpent they had encountered two days ago. Or at least a creature of the same species. Without hesitation, it lunged at the dead creature and ripped off an enormous chunk of flesh. The whale's interior lay exposed to the elements and more blood clouded the water. With a startled cry, Sandra clutched his arm.

"Mr. Garrett! Let's leave our dinner guest before he samples desert, if you please!"

The blower wound up. A flying packet of spray struck Matt and Sandra, soaking them both. The water had an unusual taste and he realized it must be blood. He spat, then looked a Sandra apologetically and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Got a bad taste in my mouth." He said in a wry tone.

He glanced down at the main deck, where Bradford was watching the serpent devour the hybrid animal with rapt fascination. Another figure stood near him at a respectful distance, and the captain recognized Shinya in the gloom. He was watching as well, but his expression was the exact opposite of Bradford's. Matt briefly wondered where Sargent Alden was, but decided it didn't matter. Any mischief the Jap could cause was dwarfed by the perils around them, and judging by his expression, the last thing Shinya wanted was to end up in the water again.

Matt looked at the woman at his side. Her teeth were already chattering from the wind chilling her damp clothes. Her long brown hair clumped to her back and shoulders in wet tangles, but her eyes were wide and bright. He couldn't tell if her expression was out of fear or fascination similar to Bradford's.

"Why don't we head down to the wardroom and dry off?" He suggested.

...

Gunner's Mate Dennis Silva sat on one of the "seats of ease" in the aft crews head smoking a cigarette. He still didn't like the damn things, but there was only so much chewing tobacco and a smoke was better than nothing. The seats were nothing more than boards across a trough where see water flowed. The compartment stank of waste and sweat, and with the way the ship was rocking, dark, nasty water sloshed back and forth on deck.

The aft crew's head was generally considered snipe territory, and that was the main reason why he went there to relieve himself, to aggravate the snipes. No one made it an issue because it didn't "technical" belong to the engineering division and, despite his easygoing nature, Silva was a big, powerful man who had a dangerous reputation. The snipe's claims to the aft heads would be considered ridiculous to an outside observer, because only a single bulkhead separated the forward and aft heads and both were located in the aft deckhouse. That didn't make trespassing any less serious in the eyes of the crew, however. So naturally, Dennis Silva sat and smoked while others came and went. No one said anything, but they gave him many dark looks indeed.

Stites, felts, and a torpedo man named Brian Aubrey found him there. They clustered around the threshold and braced themselves against the motion of the ship.

"There you are!" Exclaimed Stites. "You missed it. We ran smack into some big half whale shark fish thing, and killed it deader'n hell!"

"Good," silva muttered. "It's time we killed somethin'."

"Yeah," added Tom, "and then a big sea monster, like ate the japs, took to eating the first one just like that!" He snapped his fingers. "It was something to see, and here you was all the time, in the snipes' crapper!"

Silva scowled at the two snipes sharing the compartment. "This ain't the snipes' crapper," he said slowly. "It's Dennis Silva's crapper when Dennis Silva's takin' a crap!"

One of the "snipes" was Machinist's Mate Dean Laney, two seats from Silva. He was almost as tall as the big gunner's mate, and equally built.

"You better watch your mouth," he growled. "You damn deck-apes don't belong here."

Silva finished reliving himself and stood up, pulling his trousers back up from around his ankles. He took a breath from his cigarette and looked at Laney.

"What are you gonna do, go whinin' to Spanky or Chief Donaghey and tell 'em I was using your crapper?" He raised his voice to a high-pitched mocking tone.

"Lieutenant Spanky! Dennis Silva was in our crapper! And... he took a crap! Do somethin'! Make him stop it!"

Laney lunged to his feet with a curse, barely making an effort to pull his own pants up as Silva turned to meet him. Just then, the ship heaved unexpectedly and the combatants lost their balance and fell to the deck in a tangled, punching heap. They slid against the bulkhead in the disgusting ooze that had sloshed out from the ships movements. As quickly as the fight had begun, it ended as the two men considered their battlefield. Dennis began to laugh. Laney didn't. He put his right had on the seat nearest to him and began to rise, but realized the seat was the red one, reserved for men with venereal disease. He snatched his had away and fell to the deck again with a cry. Dennis laughed even harder and rose to his feet. He reached down to give Laney a hand, but suddenly stepped back.

"The hell with you, Laney! You want me to catch it too?" He wiped his hands on his trousers and, on second thought, rinsed them in the long sink across the compartment. He posed for a moment in front of the mirror, showing off his the powerful muscles on his chest and biceps. Then he looked at his clothes.

"Damn. Snipe shit all over me. I'll have to burn these duds and who knows when I'll get more?" He looked back at Laney, who was at least as filthy as he. The other snipe still seated had ignored the whole thing.

"C'mon, Laney. Why don't you have a cup of coffee with some real live destroyermen? Someday you'll tell your grandkids all about it."

"Go to hell," Laney said, but he rinsed himself off as best as he could and fallowed Silva through the laundry where the replaced their t-shirts. They exited on the deck behind the number three torpedo mount. The sea was heavier now, and the deck twisted beneath their feet as they lurched forward. Above their heads the beam of the searchlight swept back and forth, a beacon for their absent sister. Finally they reached the protection of the gun platform that served as the roof for the galley. There were several men standing in line with cups and the galley hatch was up. They were waiting as the cook and his mess attendant prepared a new batch of coffee. Denis and Laney grabbed cups and took their place in line.

"Hey, Earl," Dennis said to the cook, shouting over the churning sea, "you got anything besides peanut butter sammiches and scum weenies?"

Earl Lanier shook his head. "Sorry, fellas. Can't cook with the sea kickin' up. Hard enough just to make coffee. Got some cold beans, though."

"Scum weenies in 'em?"

"Yep."

Silva grimaced. "No thanks. Say, you got any of them apples left?" Again Earl shook his head.

"Juan says the rest of the apples are for the officers," said Ray Mertz, the mess attendant.

"Well, who's in charge here, Earl? You or Juan?" Demanded Dennis as it came time his turn and he filled his cup.

"I am, damn it. But Juan got them apples hisself for the officers' mess. You're lucky he shared some out at all."

"Officers," Stites grunted, as if the word was a self-explanatory curse. Silva nodded, but without much conviction, he had little use for officers normally, but he figured they could've done worse given the circumstances. Their officers sure had their work cut out for them and Silva didn't envy their responsibility.

"Still got some pickles," offered Mertz. Dennis started to refuse, but stopped himself. If things were as bad as everyone suspected, there was no telling when he'd taste a pickle again. Much less an apple. There might come a day when he'd dream about that last pickle he turned down.

"Sure, Ray. Gimme one."

Felts jabbed Laney with his elbow and motioned around the corner of the galley at a figure by the starboard rail, staring at the heavy sea. "Hey, snipe, lookie there," he said grimly. "That's that Nip officer! What the hell's he doing' on the loose?" Laney's eyes widened.

"I'll be damned! You apes sure ain't particular about the company you keep!" Angry faces turned to the machinist's mate, but they looked guiltily uncertain that he might be right.

"Yeah, what's up, Silva?" Stites demanded. "Your tight with the Chief. What's he think about lettin' Nips run all over the ship?"

Silva munched his pickle and looked from one to the other. "Chief don't like it and nether do I, but leave him be. Captains orders. He's on parole or somethin', whatever that means." He shook his head. "Don't reckon them Jap bastards paroled them boys on Wake." They were silent for a moment, watching the shape as it departed from the rail before disappearing down the companionway. "Sides," Silva added gruffly. "he's prob'ly the only fella in the whole world lonesomer than we are."

...

Spanky sat in his favorite chair near the throttle-control station. Clutched in both hands between his knees was his second favorite mug. It was a big ceramic mug that held twice as much coffee as a normal mug. On one side was a stylized view of Oahu from the air, and on the other side was a raised-relief sculpture of a virtually nude hula girl reclining on a Chevrolet emblem. His favorite cup with the pair of completely nude hula girls had been destroyed and he wasn't going to let anything happen to this one. He carefully took a sip as he listened to to sound of the ship in the moderate seas.

Over the years, Spanky had grown use to the noises she made and prided himself on his ability to diagnose problems just by sound or "feel". But now, after all the stopgaps and jury-rigged repairs, Walker moaned with all sorts of new sounds and resonated with many feels he wasn't accustomed to. He was secretly amazed that the ship was still afloat, much less underway. He grimaced at the thought of how they might have to stay that way. Wood in the boilers! The would end them. The thing was that if they were down to burning wood, that meant they had nothing else left, so with a bleak but philosophical grunt, he resigned himself to the possibility.

He was supposed to be asleep. Captain Reddy had actually ordered him to, but he couldn't help but fear that something would go horribly wrong if he did. Besides, working meant he didn't have time to think about the dark, looming scope of their situation. It was already starting to hit most of the crew. There were several guys hanging out near the throttle station now, talking about just that. He listened in for a little bit, but for the first time really, he noticed an edge of fear in their voices.

He rubbed his sleep filled eyes and looked up to see two pale faces peering at him from the gloom. He was startled at first, since he hadn't known the Mice were there. As usual they ignored the conversation flowing around them. Spanky sighed.

"What are you doing up? This ain't your watch. Get some sleep."

The one named Gilbert blinked at him and looked around the compartment. The other men were arguing about the giant badgers again. His gaze returned to Spanky.

"We seen a dinosaur before," he said in a conspiratorial voice. "Me and Isak. We seen one in New York, in a big museum, on liberty a few years back."

McFarlane's eyebrows rose at the non sequitur. "That so?" He managed.

Isak nodded grimly. "Gods truth. 'Course they was all bones." They pause as if expecting Spanky to comment. He just stared, baffled by their train of thought. Gilbert got impatient and spoke up.

"Oil's made out'a dinosaurs, they say. A long time ago a bunch of dinosaurs died and took to festerin', just like dead cows, and all that old black ooze seeped into the ground and turned into oil. 'Least that's what they say."

McFarlane's eyebrows had risen as far as they would go. He was way too tired for this. "Boys," he began, but Gilbert actually interrupted him.

"Beggin' your pardon sir, but we figure that if there's giant badgers in this place we've end up in then maybe, long time ago, there was some giant dinosaurs here too."

"Go on." Spanky said.

"Well that got us thinkin'. You see when we was kids we was both wildcatters. Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, Wyoming... We bought in a lot of wells before we got in the Navy. We didn't like it, though, neither of us. Too much damn sun and dust- and heat too, but the heat ain't to bad. That's why we got into the Navy, though," put Isak, and what passed for a tentative smile crossed his face.

"We know a thing or two about heavy machinery, but we like burning oil better'n finding it."

Gilbert looked at his partner with an air of bitter resignation, but nodded in agreement. "If things are bad like they say, if we're gonna keep our boilers fed with oil, I guess we'll have to drill for it." Gilbert took a breath. "We know how, and if that's what it takes, well... we know how how."

Spanky looked at them with surprise and slowly nodded. "Thanks boys. I'll remember that."

...

Matt and Sandra dried their hair with towels from the officers' head. Matts hair was dry in an instant, short as it was, and he watched Sandra, drying and brushing her long, brass-colored strands. He'd known she was attractive, but at that moment, with her arms over her head, and wet blouse tout against her bosom, she was the prettiest woman he'd ever seen and he had to resist an electric urge to take the brush himself. Suddenly he realized she'd caught him staring in the mirror and his ears burned as his face went red. The expression on her face was... What? Fortunately, just then Bradford swept into the wardroom. Excitement still poured from his expression.

"Amazing! Such jaws! And a vertical fin! I can only imagined how the fellow developed such a trait. I'm certain you're thankful we didn't hit the larger one, Captain Reddy! Of course you are!"

"I believe we should all be thankful for that, Mr. Bradford," Matt said, both grateful and resentful of the intrusion.

Bradford looked back and forth from one to the other, for the first time sensing tension between them, and attempted to quell his enthusiasm.

"Quite so. Forgive me. I do get carried away sometimes. I've not forgotten the seriousness of the situation. In fact, it's been foremost on my mind. I've done a bit of preliminary research and I may have a few helpful suggestions for your Mr. Letts tomorrow."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yes. But bear in mind, anything I suggest isn't going to be truly effective unless we can get a better idea of the geography around us. A map with some basic description of the landscape would give us a starting point."

"That might be a problem." Matt said. "But, if we can find them, maybe that fleet of boats we passed before might give us a map, if we can find a way to communicate with them, who knows?" Matt shrugged.

Sandra set the brush on the table and ran her fingers through her damp hair. She spoke for the first time and her lip quivered slightly. "That still leaves the question we've all been avoiding." She said with a trace of bitterness in her voice. "What happened? I wish someone would think of something, even if it's wrong. It's driving me nuts, and I'm coping well compared to some. Ensign Theimer won't even come out of the cabin. Nobody wants to talk about it! I know everyone's afraid"- she looked at Matt with eyes reflecting a mix of accusation, respect... and something else- "even you, Captain. But everyone just keeps going as if nothing unusual's happened at all."

Matt smiled a sad, gentle smile. "Thank god they do, Lieutenant Tucker. You're right. We are scared. And between the three of us here," he confessed woodenly, "I'm more scared than anybody. But we'll continue to do our duty because we have to. It's all we've got left and it's our only hope to survive."

Bradford shifted uncomfortably and Sandra covered her face with her hands for a moment, but nodded. "Of course, Captain. I'm sorry. I'm just... tired." She looked up and her eyes were rimmed with red. "This crew, everyone, is exhausted, it beats me how most stay so calm." She frowned. "Not all have though, and some that you think are handling it really aren't." She sighed. "Like me, I guess. It's like a nightmare, or some H. G. Wells or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle novel."

"Well," Matt said, "the creatures we've seen all at least have some resemblance from back home, so that eliminates The Time Machine, according to you, Mr. Bradford. Of corse the charts are still off and there's the matter of the Inuit flotilla. That leaves the The Lost World our most likely scenario."

"Actually," said Courtney Bradford, "I think it's a little more than that."

"What do you think?" Asked Sandra.

Bradford looked solemn. "I don't know yet. I expect an epiphany once we've done more than just sail about. But the people from the boat, they did look like... people did they not?"

Matt just looked a Bradford curiously. "Yes. As near as I could figure. Why do you ask?"

"it seams highly unlikely that, after stumbling into a whole different world that we should find people that not only look human but seam to have a culture design that reflects one from our own world. I'm talking about the Inuit tribes of North America of course. Statistically, if this is a world where life has had the chance to evolve separately, that would be impossible." Bradford pause. "And the animal life we've seen; it's bigger, with some differences, but they're practically the same..." Suddenly Mr. Bradfords face lit up with ecstasy as he continued talking to no one in particular.

"Oh but if they crossed over as well maybe something about the environment of this world changed them! Something in the water or the food chain I suppose..."

"Mr. Bradford!" Matt snapped as the Australian stopped mid-sentence with a look of embarrassment on his face.

"Please get to the point." Matt asked as he took a deep breath while trying his best to soften his expression. "What exactly are you getting at?"

Courtney Bradford quickly recovered and continued in a cryptic tone

"What if we are not the first people to cross over? What if others from our world have come to this world before?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **A/N: Well... This took waaaaay longer than I intended. But alas, it's finally complete!**

 **Before we begin I'd like to say thank you to everyone who've reviewed, favorited, or fallowed this story. It pretty cool to see all the support for this idea and I can't wait to get it into full motion.**

 **Just a note: My next update isn't going to be a chapter, but rather a revision that will include spelling corrections and a few changes to the text.**

 **That being said, let's get this started**.

The sun rose sharp and fierce in a cloudless sky. The storm, if it could be called that, was over, leaving only a slight chop as Walker eased along the mountains and cliff-sides. All through the night they'd searched but found no sign of Mahan, and everyone harbored a forlorn hope that they'd find her where they left her. Matt believed it possible, even likely, that if Jim couldn't nurse his ship all the way to the rendezvous, he'd bring her back here, thinking it the first place Matt would look. Unfortunately, when they cleared the shoals and got a good look at their original anchorage, they were disappointed.

From his place in the pilot house, Matt quietly turn to the helmsmen. "Set a new corse two-five-zero, all ahead two-thirds."

"Two-five-zero, all ahead two-thirds, aye," Tony Scott replied.

Matt sighted before turning to lieutenant Dowden. "We can't keep searching to the ends of... This earth to find Mahan. It looks like Jim is on his own for now, wherever he is."

"I'm sure he can take care of Mahan, sir." Dowden said.

Matt paused to rub the mucus out of his eyes before taking a seat in his chair.

"I hope so, because Mahan is going to need all the help she can get out here."

...

Commander Chan had been fast asleep when a shrilled voice emerged from the speaker pipe in his room.

"Commander! Lookouts have spotted the sails of water tribe vessels on the horizon."

Chan managed to lift his body out of the reasonably comfortable sheets before speaking through the pipe at his desk.

"How many?" He asked plainly.

"They count almost dozen mast at least. Shall we pursue?"

"At once, and inform the chief engineer to get as much steam out of the boilers as he can. I'm on my way."

Once on his feet, Chan grabbed his uniform and flung it over his night robe, making sure to tighten the straps that held the different sections of armor together. Once finished, he paused to take a deep breath. As he did, the flame from the single lit candle on his desk intensified, burning much brighter then before and briefly lighting up the whole room with its orange glow. The light returned to normal as Chan exhaled before turning towards the hatch that lead out to the hallway.

...

The afternoon watch came on duty and Matt found himself heartened. The normalcy of tradition bound proceeders made the unreal events of the previous days seem remote. The sea was mild, the sky was clear, and a nominally cool breeze washed across him from the open bridgewing. It was one of those days that made destroyermen glory in the seemingly effortless speed and grace of their ships instead of cursing them for their tendency to pitch and roll in heavy seas. For the first time Matt could see more smiles and normal, goofing around from the crew than he had in many days.

He sat in his chair and leafed through the report. Spanky, Letts, and, of all people, the Mice were designing a drilling rig and had convinced Bernie Sandison to endorse their scheme to use the torpedo tubes on the inoperable number three mound for a condensation tower to refine oil once they found it. He looked out at the fo'c'sle. Grey had the first deck division repairing topside damage, although Matt knew how the Bosun suffered over the reddening deck and the long streaks of rust that began to take hold.

He also watch as men worked to repair the shell damage to the starboard hawse. The anchor on that side was gone forever, but they were winching the spare into place as he watched. He was surprised to see the Japanese officer helping, under the supervision of a certain Marine. The men working with Shinya kept their distance and cast many resentful looks, but they were letting him help. It was a start, Matt supposed. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

The only thing darkening his mood were the subconscious fuel gauge, creeping ever downward in his mind, and the lingering ache over what might have happened to Mahan.

He heard voices behind him and turned to see Courtney Bradford and Sandra Tucker asking permission to come on the bridge. Matt smiled, waved them over beside him, and stood up. "Good afternoon Lieutenant Tucker, Mr. Bradford. A fine day, is it not?"

"Indeed it is captain." The Australian replied, as Sandra smiled back at Matt. "I'd though you'd like to know I've taken a look at the designs for the oil rig your crew are planing to build.

Matt chuckled under his breath. "Is it to your liking?"

"I am not much of a rig engineer captain. I spend more time finding oil than drilling for it. Too messy a task if you ask me. But your men's idea looks promising enough, that is, as far as I can tell."

"Well, it's good to know that we have the Royal Dutch Shell seal of approval for our little project." Mat said.

"Glad to be of service." Bradford said.

Sandra quickly spoke up, the previous nights worry's and tension seamed to be far from her mind based on her expression.

"I'm pleased to report that most of the wounded are almost ready to return to light duty. By the weeks end everyone should be back on their feet."

"Good to hear." Matt said. He felt like saying more. But before he could, the crows nest comm whistled. "Bridge, lookout," came the voice of Elden

"Bridge, Riggs here," replied the petty officer.

"PO, I've got smoke on the horizon, Bering zero one five. A hell of a lot of smoke. There's so much I thought it was a cloud at first. They I saw black smoke, like from a coal or wood fire. Whatever's burning is in the water to."

"Excuse me, please," said Matt to his visitors. He raised his binoculars.

"Can you see what it is yet?" Riggs asked the lookout. "Is it a ship, or what?"

"Negative, PO. All I see is smoke. Whatever it is it's still... Wait. Damn, I swear its that flock of Eskimos we bumped into earlier!"

Matt lowered his binoculars with a strange mix of disappointment, relief, and curious concern. Disappointment it wasn't Mahan, but relief that it wasn't Mahan on fire. The curious concern was for the people on the fleet of ships. "Well," he thought. "Maybe it's time we met." Besides, they appeared to be in trouble.

"All ahead full," he ordered. "Come right, fifteen degrees."

Walkers bow came around and she quickly gathered speed. Water peeled back from her bow as she charged. The men on the foredeck stopped what they were doing and stood, their faces turned toward the towering column of smoke in the distance. Five minutes passed, then ten.

"Bridge?" Came Elden's voice. The normally unflappable ship-fitter sounded unusually strained.

"Bridge, aye."

"It's those Eskimos all right, and three other metal ships ships I don't recognize. I swear, for a minute, they looked like Jap battle wagons with those super structures, but their defiantly smaller than that. The black smoke is coming from them. I figure their coal burners. They've got the Eskimos surrounded and one is even lashed on to one of the boats. It looks like their fighting! Another boat seams to be burning at the stern. " there was a pause for a moment. "I think there's a hell of a fight going on."

Matt turned to Reynolds. "Get the range from Mr. Barry," he ordered.

"Aye, aye, Captain," said Reynolds, a little wide-eyed. It was his first time as talker and it was just his luck something serious would happen. He spoke briefly into the microphone and waited for a response

"Sir, Ensign Barry estimates the range at about fifteen thousand yards."

"Very well. Sound general quarters if you please."

"The deep gonging sound that was part horn, part buzzer resonated throughout the ship, and surprised men snatched helmets and life rafts as they raced to their stations. Some rolled from their racks, disoriented for a moment, and hesitated like they would never have done before the squall. Feet clanked on the later as lieutenant Garrett and the rest of the fire control team gained the bridge and scampered to the platform above. Bernard Sandison appeared, tucking in his shirt, along with torpedomen Hale, Carter, and Aubry, who took their places at the torpedo directors.

Reynolds recited a litany of readiness reports, and after much longer than Matt approved, he made the announcement.

"All stations manned and ready, Captain. Mr. Dowden has the auxiliary conn and reports... um... The chaos he could see looked like a shore patrol raid on an Olongapo... whorehouse." His face turned pink.

Matt glanced at his watch. "Pathetic," he announced. "A Jap car salesman with a stick of dynamite and a rowboat could have sent us under by now. Sparks, inform the Bosun that the deck division was the last to report." Everyone cringed to think how the Chief would extract his vengeance for that humiliation. He was heard even now, bellowing at the gun crews.

Much of the confusion was caused by the need to stow the "peace time" awnings that now covered the deck spaces, but Matt knew most of the blame was his. He'd grown lax about daily drills since they no longer were in immediate danger from the Japanese. That didn't mean that all threats had passed. Despite their trauma, or maybe because of it, drill was now more important, not less. He resolved to make sure his crew were not caught unaware again.

He sat back in his chair, Sandra and Bradford not completely forgotten but suppressed in the portion of his mind not preparing to fight if need be.

"Mr. Sandison. What is the current status of our torpedoes?"

"One, three and five are loaded, prepped, and ready to launch."

"No news on the condemned fish?"

"No, sir. I still have them in the shop. One didn't even have a repair tag. The other one is clearly a dud. The warhead housing is all crumpled in. The tag said one of our subs fired it into a Dutch freighter by mistake. It punched a hole in her side without exploding and got stuck. Yard apes had to fish it out." Sandison smirked ironically. "Everyone was lucky that time."

There'd been far to many "duds" of every sort since the war began. In this one case it was fortunate, but Matt hated to think how many American ships might have been lost, and enemies spared because of faulty ammunition. He knew the torpedoes hadn't preformed well at all during the night action at Balikpapan. Most of their success there was due to gunnery. Whatever the case, he prayed they weren't relying on useless weapons.

"Keep at it, Mr. Sandison," he said.

Turning back to the window, Matt peered through his binoculars again, focusing at the base of the smoke. He could now see for himself that a battle was talking place. But the images were unlike anything Matt had ever seen.

"My God..."

The excellent optics of the binoculars focused the blurred shapes into a sharp, detailed image of a desperate, medieval style battle. Three metal ships, each almost a hundred feet long, had completely surrounded the caravan. Their dark color, tall superstructure, and sharp bow had a menacing impression.

But what caught his attention was the way many of the combatants fought.

One of the cutter ships was burning at the stern, the smoke making it impossible to see if anyone was alive. Ranks of men in dark armor swarm the decks of a second ship. One of the black metal ships had extended its spike bow like some kind of platform to the deck of the boat, it's weight causing the ship to list to port. But what struck him as outright bizarre was the strange flashes of flame that would occasionally burst forth from the attackers. Especially those involved in an individual melee action. It was almost like watching someone engage in hand to hand combat with someone armed with a flame thrower and Matt had no idea what to make of it. The fire didn't seem to come from anywhere, it just burst from the solders hands seemingly out of thin air.

"What the hell?" He whispered to himself.

...

With all his strength, Arnook jabbed the spear into the neck of the firebender who was poised to finish off captain Aput who lay bleeding on the deck. The whale tooth blade jammed through the gap in the armor, breaking skin and sending hot blood everywhere. The soldier collapsed and Arnook quickly reached down to pull the captain to his feet.

"We can't hold much longer!" The grey bearded captain cried out as he instinctively covered the red wound on his head.

"Let me worry about that. You must see a healer immediately. Can you walk?"

Aput took one step under his own weight and almost fell back onto the deck. Arnook immediately put his arm under the captains armpit while Aput put his own arm over the tribe leaders' shoulder.

"Hold onto me." Arnook said as he supported the captain over to an open hatch that led below. All the while making sure not to trip over the dead bodies of those who had already fallen. By the time they reached the hatch a young female healer had stepped out and relived Arnook of his burden. As she lead the captain below she turned to her leader.

"Chief Arnook, If they get below, what do we do?" She said. The hint of panic in her voice was unmistakable. Arnook lay his hand on the girls shoulder and looked her in the eye.

"Listen, child. I promise I will do everything in my power to prevent that. Everyone here will. But if the soldiers get below deck-" his voice lowered to a whisper. "- get yourselves and the wounded on the canoes and use the waterline hatch. Then get as far away as you can. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded. Sniffling a little but comforted by the Chiefs words, she turned and lead the injured captain below. At the same time Arnook turn around back twards the chaos of the battle as he began his mental transformation from a kind and compassionate Chief into a violent, bloodthirsty warrior.

...

"My God, sir! How can we not take sides! Just look over there!" Cried Bradford.

Matt stared at him, his face granite. "I didn't say we wouldn't help. I said I wish we didn't have to, because when we do, we take sides. We know nothing about what's going on. For all we know these attackers are the good guys! Also- and I will only say this once, Mr. Bradford- you're on my bridge because I allow it. One more outburst and I'll have you removed. Is that clear?"

"Will you remove me too?" Demanded Sandra, her eyes flashing like pistols.

Matt sighted angrily. "Lieutenant, I wish you weren't here now. We may be about to go into battle. In case you have forgotten, you have a battle station!"

She stared at him, unrelenting and smoldering. The rest of the men in the pilothouse did their best to observe anything but the confrontation. Even so, it was plain that their sympathies rested with Bradford and lieutenant Tucker.

"Look," said Matt, as reasonably as he could, "this isn't our fight..." He immediately raised his hand to ward off interruption. "Yet. I feel inclined to help them too. But we are alone out here. If we do, we might get involved in an all out war, and we have no idea what resources the enemy has. We damn sure don't have any!" Matt didn't even want to think about how they could literally make fire shoot from their hands. It was just another mystery that he didn't have time to ponder on.

"Besides, look at those ships. Those are coal powered ships! They can't be more than half a century behind us! What if they know about oil, or other modern resources? Don't you see? If that's the case maybe they can tell us about where we could find what we need!" He was silent for a moment as he let his point sink in. "If we shoot them, I doubt they'll give us answers."

He swiveled in his chair, gazing through the windows at the battle. "On the other hand..." He murmured darkly and said no more. The Inuets were certainly outnumbered, and given the poor wind there was no question who started the fight. So far, none of the combatants seemed to have noticed their approach. With the smoke so thick and the fighting so intense, that was understandable. But sooner or later, they would be noticed. Maybe the sight of the destroyer would have the same effect as before, and everybody would just stop what they were doing and stare. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the only idea he had, short of going in guns blazing.

In spite of his argument, he knew deep down, that was what he wanted to do. He couldn't ignore the brutal way in which the people from the steam ships fought. And then there was the Inuets themselves. They sure looked remarkably similar to the native Indian tribes of Canada he'd read about. Mr. Bradford's words from the night before echoed in his mind. If they didn't help, they could lose the chance to gain vital information.

"Let's see what happens," he said at last.

...

Commander Chan could finally see the ship in full view now. It's approached had been masked by smoke from the battle that raged just off the port bow of the flagship. Now, however, It was unobstructed and everyone on the bridge could see. It was longer than one of their cruisers, but it's bridge- at least that's what Chan believed it to be- was short and forward of amidships. Behind that were four smoke stacks with another structure between the second and third funnels. A third structure stood at the back with a significant amount of equipment he didn't recognize.

But what caught the Commanders attention was the speed at which it approached. Not even the swiftest blockade runner could match the newcomers speed. And no smoke! How could a vessel with such speeds not need to produce smoke? Chan could only see the slightest amount of white vapors coming out of the first three funnels, but nothing else. Yet still it approached with the swiftness of a kangaroo-rabbit!

"Commander..." Lieutenant Ryuu, who stood alongside him, said hesitantly. "What are your orders?"

Chains shook his head as he tried to awaken himself from the daze he was in. He needed to take control of the situation.

"Lieutenant, prepare a message to be sent to Admiral Zhao and inform him of our status; that we're preparing to intercept an unknown steamer. Please provide a visual description as well."

"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant barked before making his way to the communication room just one deck above.

"Helm, bring us about to intercept!"

...

"Captain, Mr. Garrett says they must've seen us," said Reynolds. "One of the attackers is coming about. Range now twenty- one double zero."

Matt saw the change in aspect as the ship came around. Smoke billowed from it two funnels as it picked up speed. The ship itself sported an unconventional design with its tall superstructure located closer to the stern, almost resembling the Nelson class "treaty battleships" of the Royal Navy.

"Slow to two- thirds," he commanded as the ranged diminished.

"Twelve double zero," said Reynolds as the range wound down. The steamer was putting out a lot of black smoke now and Matt estimated its speed at eighteen to twenty knots. Respectable, but troubling. The bold, all out approach made it seem like the people who crewed it were trying to come to grips.

"One thousand yards, sir."

At this distance Matt could see three structures that looked remarkably similar to counterweight trebuchets. Each had a metallic design with a chain sling at one end, and a fixed metal weight on the other side. If their performance was anything close to the real thing, then at one thousand yards Walker would be moments from entering their range.

"Slow to one- third. Come left thirty degrees. Guns one, three, and four will track the target."

"Bridge, came the voice of Elden. "A lot of the men on that ship are starting to gather towards the targets bow. The've got spears and shields, and a lot of them are riding on the backs of these... animals." The final words were incredulous.

Matt lifted his binoculars to investigate. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. Elden was right. At least a dozen men, possibly more, were gathered at the bow. But it was the animals which many of them rode on that caught his eyes. There were six such beast, each had three horns with two erupting from the crown of the head and a third from the snout. The shape of their head and tough, muscular hide was reminiscent of a rhino. What made these creatures different was the giant lizard like tail that each of them had. The mouth and jaw structure also looked somewhat reptilian, but the small ears on either side of its head were defiantly mammalian.

Bradford apparently had seen them too because Matt could hear him whispering under his breath with a strange mix of fascination and terror. "My word! such creatures!"

"Pass the word for Chief Campeti. Have him issue rifles and sidearms for all deck personnel not part of the gun crews. Prepare to repel boarders."

Matt was struck by the strangeness of the order. Probably not since the War of 1812 had the captain of a U.S. warship given the order to repel boarders on the high seas. He allowed himself an ironic smile.

"At four hundred yards, the number three gun will fire a warning shot across her bow if she doesn't back off."

He glanced a Sandra and Courtney Bradford. Matt raised an eyebrow with a look that said, "what were we arguing about?".

"Four hundred yards!" Came Reynolds report. Matt turned back to the approaching ship. In a calm voice, devoid of inflection, Captain Reddy uttered a single word. "Fire."

Matt watched as the number three gun crashed and, an instant later, a geyser of water cascaded down on the men. The water sent many scrambling for cover, but the ship showed no sign of turning or heaving to.

Suddenly, at two hundred yards, one of the trebuchets released a burning projectile roughly the size of a Ford pickup, launching it high into the air. An instant later, a second object rose, and then a third. Everyone in the pilothouse saw them with unaided eyes. The projectiles reached their zenith before falling back to earth. Two plummeted into the sea scarcely a dozen yards off Walker's port beam. The impact with the waves extinguished the flames, but a nasty side effect was the horrific smell that emitted from the fumes. It reminded Matt of the smell of wet hot asphalt. The third struck so close that Matt felt it bump the hull under the amidship deckhouse before some kind of burning black, tar like substance splashed up along the side and onto the men at the number three gun. Most managed to scramble out of the way, but one person was caught in the face by the flaming black ooze.

A horrific scream filled the air as the man became engulfed in flames from the wast up. The gun crew rushed to his aide as the Bosun exited the pilot house from below before running up the stairs to the amidship deckhouse.

"Damage control teams! Get a fire hose on this man immediately! COME ON, GET YOUR ASSES MOVING!"

A hose was final brought over and the men went to work extinguishing the figure who had already collapsed on the deck. Matt noticed movement behind him. He turned to see Sandra rushing to the ladder. By the time she made it to the crowd to tend to the man, the flames had been extinguished.

Matt looked to those standing nearby. For just the slightest moment, he reflected upon the consequences and ramifications of his next act, but the decision came without any hesitation. He stepped briskly to Reynolds, took the headset from him, and spoke directly into the microphone.

"Mr. Garrett, this is the captain. Guns one and four may commence firing."

...

Arnook watched with unbelieving eyes as two explosions devastated the Fire Navy ship. Debris and parts of bodies rained into the sea in all directions. The burnt hulk was already listing to the right. The chaos of battle briefly ebbed as men from both sides tried in vain to look beyond the haze and smoke to see what had occurred. The Fire Navy cruiser had come to a complete stop and began to float with the ocean current. Just beyond, Arnook saw a strangely familiar sight.

The iron ship! He realized with a sense of wonder and relief.

"The iron ship! The iron ship has returned!" He cried out to any who could hear him. All over similar shouts of praise and hope began to rise up over the sound of battle. The noise swelled as the water tribe defense became filled with an unrelenting surge of energy. The warriors, who had been slowly losing ground before, we're now beginning to hold back the tide. Most of the Komodo-rhinos had fallen to the defenders. Fire benders that had been trickling aft were finally getting cut down. Before long the entire Fire nation advance had stalled.

Just beyond Arnook could see the newcomers make their approach towards the battle. They seemed hesitant at first, as if unsure what to do. Arnook understood. Their powerful and mysterious weapons were probably not selective enough to influence the battle on the cutter ship. At least, that's what he thought at first.

...

"What now?" Matt whispered to himself. They'd thrown away any hope of neutrality when they fired on the ironclad. The first salvo practically killed most of the men on the deck of the ship and destroyed two of the trebuchets. The second salvo must have hit the ships boilers because a tower of flames vomited from both of the smoke stacks shortly after. The white water at the stern began to sub-subside as the hidden propeller stopped moving.

They'd fired in self defense, but he doubted the hundreds of soldiers and sailors from the other ships would see it that way. Okay, so maybe two salvos were excessive, but they'd killed one of his men. It didn't take long for Sandra Tucker to return to the bridge with the news that Mack Marvaney, a member of the ordinance division, had succumbed to his burn wounds.

And now, like it or not, he had chosen sides, and as precarious as the situation looked, this wasn't the time for half measures. One side or the other would win this fight, and it didn't seem like a good idea to let it be the ones they'd shot at.

"Come left, to one three zero," he said coldly. "Gun crews stand by, but hold fire. Small arms will commence firing at one hundred yards. The targets are the enemy troops on the board the Inuit ship. The machine guns may fire, but have them conserve their ammunition and be wary of their targets.

Sandra moved beside him, also looking at what they were getting themselves into. Her hair was disheveled from trying to help Marvaney.

"I'm sorry, Captain," she said in a small, quiet voice. A sliver of guilt seemed to accompany her tone.

He looked at her, then nodded with a shrug. "Me too, I guess it's not in me to watch something like this without trying to help. But Lord above, we have enough problems without winding up in the middle of another war!" He spoke quietly, so only she knew, truly just how hard a decision it was for him.

They heard the crack of Springfields as riflemen on deck chose their targets, and the starboard .30-cal opened up with a short burst of its own.

"These people had better be worth it," he said grimly. "Because every bullet we fire for them is one less we'll have to save our own asses with in the future."

...

"Hot damn!" Yelled Dennis Silva as he racked the bolt brace on the starboard .50-cal. "It's about time we got the chance to kill someone!"

Ordnance striker Gil Olivera was beside him, ready to change the ammo box when it was empty. He giggled nervously.

Alfonso Reavis and Sandy Newman also stood nearby, Springfields on their shoulders, but their job was to gather spent shells before they rolled into the sea. Silva didn't know why. It wasn't like they could be reloaded as far as he knew. Even if they had more bullets, they still needed powder and primers. Oh, well, he didn't care. He'd been order to shoot the hell out of someone and after what happened to Marvaney, he couldn't help but oblige.

The sound of battle on the burning ship was awesome. The roaring flames, the screams and shouts from the combatants on the ships lent the scene a surrealistic aspect. Silva looked through the smoke and eventually pointed towards the ship that was the center of the battle.

"Ain't no friendlies forward of that mast!" He shouted to Felts, who stood between him and the number three gun with one of the BARs.

"I see it Dennis. If we shoot there, we ought to get half a dozen with each shot!"

"'Zactly!" Said Silva, and grinned.

"Just be careful not to hit any of them Eskimos!" warned Felts.

Silva let out a whoop and squeezed the handle trigger on the back of his gun. A stream of tracers arced across the short distance through the smoke and into the pack of enemy warriors.

"This is for Mack, assholes!" Silva screamed.

...

Commander Chan didn't remember losing conciseness, but he did remember the jarring impact that shook the ship several moments after they engaged the four funneled steamer. The next thing he knew he was awake on the floor of the ships bridge. Laying on top of him was the burnt remains of the young helmsman. The explosion in the engine room must have caused a flash fire that superheated parts of the interior of the superstructure, including the bridge. As he slowly pushed the body off his torso, Chan realized that the body had shielded him from the worst of the fire and was probably the only reason he was still alive.

When he tried to move a sharp pain flooded his body, originating from his left leg. Only then did he notice the metal roof beam which had collapsed on his leg, pining him down. Smoke stung his nostrils, and loud metallic groans assaulted his ears as the ship began to lean to starboard. He looked around to see more burnt bodies and wreckage. As he made another attempt to free himself the sound of footsteps alerted him to the three figures that came up from the main latter onto the bridge. One was lieutenant Ryuu, the other two were soldiers in firebender armor. The officer knelt before his commander.

"Are you hurt sir?" He asked.

"My leg!" Chan said through his gritted teeth as he tried to wiggle free, to no avail.

"You men, get ready to lift that beam when I say so!" Ryuu ordered as he got to his feet and grabbed Chan from under his shoulders. The two soldiers moved to both sides of Chan as they bent down to get leverage under the hulk of metal

"One, two, three!" Ryuu yelled as he pulled Chan's body at the same time the two men lifted the beam. When he was free Ryuu helped Chan to his feet he instructed the two solders to provide support. Chan could see the stream of blood from his wound seeping through his black leg guards.

"Lieutenant! Damage report." Chan managed to ask in between coughing fits as the four men began their long track down the stairwell.

"The engine room is gone sir. Explosion killed almost everyone below deck. Captain Harutos ship will be alongside any minute."

"Did you get the message to Admiral Zhao sent?" Chan asked weakly.

"The hawk is on its way."

"Good." Chan nodded with relief. If the surviving flotilla units failed to escape than at least the main fleet would be notified of this new and powerful threat.

...

Arnook couldn't believe what he had witness. In the span of a few minutes the Fire nation forces had gone from the edge of victory to total and udder defeat.

It started when the iron ship made its approach to the battle. At first it did nothing. Arnook believed it was because their weapons were too powerful to influence the fighting on the ship without hurting innocences. The theory was quickly shattered when a series of hammering sounds began filling the air followed by several trails of white sparks that originated from the iron vessel and fell into the crowd of enemy soldiers. The sparks ripped apart anything they came in contact with including wood, metal, and human flesh. Many fell, horribly mangled, in the space of a few seconds. And they couldn't even see what was killing them! In a panic most in the rear retreated back to their ship, scrabbling and tripping over fallen warriors in the process, while others simply took cover behind anything they could find. Glances of alarm became screams of terror as the troops up front saw their comrades dying and fleeing behind them. Despite his own shock Arnook wasted no time taking this opportunity. He lead the charge that swept the remaining enemy entirely from the deck of the ship. In the end he couldn't count how many enemy's had fallen as the retreated back to their ship.

With a hiss of steam the Fire navy cruiser retracted its bow and began to back away from its victim. But it's attempt to flee was in full view of the iron ship, and two thunderous booms left it a sinking wreck. A few of the survivors, which had only a minute earlier retreated from the deck of the Water tribe ship, now found themselves in the freezing water and swimming back towards their enemy for help. Arnook ordered ropes to the side so those in the water could be brought on deck.

Warriors took charge of those who were not seriously injured and led them away from the others to be taken as prisoners. Soaked and cold to the bone, most were grateful to be alive. In all, only a few dozen came out of the water. Most were young, inexperienced non-benders. In the Fire nation military it was considered a disgrace to be taken prisoner and the rest of the crew of the doomed ship ended up going down with their vessel.

And just like that. As quickly as it had come, the battle had ended.

The third Fire navy ship, which had been circling the flotilla at a standoff distance since the battle began, took the opportunity to creep towards the wreck of the first cruiser, no doubt to take on survivors. When finished with its task the warship turned and headed west as fast as it could. The iron ship briefly chased it, but eventually came about back toward the flotilla.

The cheers from the surviving Water tribe warriors filled the air. A wave of euphoria had hit them that quickly spread the the other ships. They had won. Despite all odds they had escaped from the grasp of death. As the men went to work collecting the wounded as well as the dead, Arnook found himself wandering the deck looking for a familiar face. He finally found Master Paku who had spent most of the battle extinguishing fires with his water-bending, preventing the entire fleet from going up in flames, leaving him covered in dark soot that stained his skin and clothing. He was closing the eyes of the dead laying on the deck before they were taken away. His face was expressionless, as usual. But his eyes betrayed sorrow and even guilt.

As he walked over to the wooden rail, he could see the same figure on the iron ship he had seen days before. Fighting weariness, he raised his right arm and gave a brief wave to him. He could only hope the gesture would convey a fraction of his gratitude

In the haze of smoke, he was sure he saw the figure raise his hand as well. His arm finally slumped back down, his eyes turning back towards his people as they worked to repair and put the dead to rest. He realized in that moment that tomorrow the sun would rise on a different world. One in which the Northern Water Tribe, for the first time in eighty years, had been forced back into the great Hundred Year War. But also a world in which the Fire Nation had met their match against a power even greater than their own, and his people had new allies.


End file.
